


Heaven Can't Help Me Now

by ADelicateSerein



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming of Age, Emotional Infidelity, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Growing Up, Marriage, Mutual Pining, No Underage Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-04 19:01:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15847419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADelicateSerein/pseuds/ADelicateSerein
Summary: *ON HIATUS*Routine was all Rey Andor knew and held dearly onto.If something wasn’t broken, there was no reason to disrupt the pattern.She just never imagined the obstacle to break and shatter her mold of the world would appear in the form of a tall stranger moving into her quaint neighborhood with years of navigating adulthood she had yet to experience, a credit score to boast about, a steady job and income, and a shiny black sports car he drove complete with a silver band tied around his left-hand's fourth finger.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pheewww. I'm honestly just so glad to finally start posting my first-ever fanfic to contribute to a community full of warm, imaginative, and creative individuals who have had the confidence to keep us entertained for years now. 
> 
> Please read the tags if you haven't already. If you notice some of the characters have slightly OOC quirks, you're not hallucinating. This is done to show some progression over the story as it is a coming of age story and if there's no growth then it's just a boring high school story with no purpose. No characters are massively unrecognizable, however! Just as a note as well — this story tackles muddy gray subjects. If you're sensitive to marriage trouble issues, then maybe this won't be the story for you. Without giving much away, this story does show the deterioration of a marriage and the many coping mechanisms humans can take to—moral or not—as they experience this and the resulting ups and downs. In no way is this writing encouraging cheating. That’s just dumb and plain awful. This is a fictional story with fictitious characters doing storyline things in a made-up world… 
> 
> Here we goooo.

 

Routine was how she kept sane. 

Picking at the grass blades beneath her palms, Rey Andor settled her head comfortably above an arm left exposed to the nighttime air.

 

To keep sane, she’d start the day by slamming the alarm clock settled to her left on a modest dresser one minute before it hit six in the morning. Blindly ruffling the white shaggy carpet to make way towards the cluttered bathroom, she’d then groom herself as her morning podcast played at a volume loud enough to drown out the buzz of her electric toothbrush. After erasing the previous night’s questionable activities and facepalm moments with concealer, lip gloss, and mascara, she’d anticipate her mother’s knock on her bedroom door as she’d then stick her head in without warning. 

“Rey! Are you done yet?” Her mother would call out as she'd lean against the border of her doorway, laundry basket settling its weight comfortably against her hip. 

“Yes, mom!” She’d shout in a hurried quip as colorful assortments of blouses and shorts strewn all over the floor were gathered from the floor. Balling them up, she’d exit the bathroom in an apologetic hunch as she’d place the garments into the basket held firmly in her mother’s hands. 

Sighing loudly, Jyn Andor would set the basket down as she’d give her daughter a warm smile. “I thought you weren’t gonna stay up so late last night, honey.” Rey would anticipate the comforting touch she’d receive as her mother’s tongue would quickly swipe itself on a finger that would target the area on her chin where a small streak of pink lip gloss adorned its tip.

Typically, once her mother made a comment about her daily habits and finished fixing her makeup, Rey would give her the usual senior-year spiel as to what's been taking up her time away from home, the acceptable excuse at least: 

College Prep. 

Since Freshman year, she’d worked hard to climb the social ladder at school while maintaining slightly above average grades. Popularity was necessary to make up for her mediocrity in the academic field. It certainly helped when she befriended plenty of people, including upperclassmen who helped her get a seat in student council by boosting her status when they’d stroll across the cafeteria and school halls together laughing loudly and batting at each other’s arms in jest. Aware to a fault, she’d flash observers a practiced smile she learned from an old Vogue magazine giving tips on how to charm people with painted lips and pearly teeth.

 

However, exactly two Tuesday’s ago, a dreaded meeting with her school counselor revealed how she might need to expand her extracurricular activities if she wanted a more viable chance of getting accepted into her top-of-the-wishlist universities. 

_“Well, if you had a gig outside of school, it could show potential choices how you’re a real go-getter, you know?”_

Didn’t it matter enough she was the student body’s secretary? 

_“I think the food bank out of town would appreciate some extra hands over the weekend, too...”_

Not a chance. 

Saturdays were dedicated to bonfire parties where having small ping pong balls make it dead center into cheap red cups full of mysteriously daring concoctions were the priority. Sundays were set in her calendars for late afternoon naps and existential hiking trips with her friends where they would eventually end up at the pizza parlor in town in which the owner, Mr. Calrissian, would throw them a bone in the form of a free deluxe meaty pie in exchange for their ears as he spoke of his own high school adventures from way back when. 

Now confronted with a task she desperately wanted to put off, Rey knew she couldn’t escape its clutches this time around. She’d already wasted enough time over the years focusing on the little pleasures instead of setting long-term goals where her future was concerned. 

She needed better grades and a job.

What with school and student council meetings already taking up the majority of her time, it annoyed her to think she’d have to surrender even more. The only bright side of it all was knowing she’d be bearing her days in shared eye rolls and snorts with her best friend, Finn Stormer.

 

Walking her way back home once the sun would begin its descent, she’d kick small pebbles lying on the smooth curbsides bathed in afternoon golden light that faded away into violet tones anticipating dusk. S et apart from the nearest city for a few good miles, her little suburban haven in Kent, Connecticut was her little bubble she was hesitant to step outside of and risk bursting. 

Stepping foot onto the wooden floorboards of her porch, their creak and her rushed greeting would alert her parents of her presence as she’d run up the stairs, backpack barely hanging onto one shoulder. 

An hour later and she’d sit down for dinner with her mother and father around a carefully decorated dining room with family pictures adorning the Tuscan beige walls all thematically designed by her interior decorator of a mother. Her project accountant of a father would plop his briefcase and stacks of small-print papers in the office room next door that was the one dwelling space to remain untouched by her mother’s experimental hands before joining them. 

If Jyn Andor was the creative right-side of the collective brain she shared with her husband, then Cassian Andor was the left-side; all logical and organized to a fault. 

Her mother was a well-known local figure in her discipline as proven by the traffic numbers of internet clicks generated on her website where clients left no shortage of positive reviews and testimonials. If one wished to see their imaginations brought to life, Mrs. Andor was the artist to contact. On the other hand, her father was a well-respected and lauded businessman in their little town. If one wanted to chase a lifelong dream of building a small business from scratch, they’d hear the happily rushed recommendations of customers praising the name of Mr. Andor. 

Rey wasn’t exactly sure what one would say when they’d hear her name, but she knew aside from the superficial adjectives such as “pretty” and “nice” there was nothing she did that truly stood out like her parents did. 

 

The end of dinnertime would always strike around 8 o’clock at night when the neighborhood would begin to settle into slumber as porch lights would begin to twinkle off and friendly canines would burrow into their doghouses ready for dreams of chasing rabbits.

It was also the hour before Rey would begin her nightly run—a habit she made sure her parents were clueless of happening as they’d already be happily tucked into their master bedroom with the TV dutifully set to their local news channel. 

Feet covered in worn sportswear shoes, she’d pound the paved cement for as long as she could. 

There’d be no pauses until her cheeks reddened, baby hairs clung to facial angles and concaves, sweat drenched her spine, and her gasping throat forced her onto her knees to clutch her stomach as her lungs steadied their marathon pace. 

With her heart pumping freshly oxygenated blood, it was only when she was forced to sprawl out on her favorite park’s grass where she was able to finally find an ounce of silence from the voices flooding her head.

Presently, her exhalations swayed the grass blades she sat resting upon. 

She wasn’t exactly sure of the _“who, what, when, where, and why,_ ” but she knew change was needed—something to prove she was capable of handling the responsibilities she had long evaded. 

It was a daunting feeling.

 

* * *

 

Jessika Pava’s gangly arms dramatically wave in the air after she slams her lunch tray on the cafeteria table. “Wait... Wait, wait just a minute! How on earth did it escape you to mention that Rodinon posted about you last night, Finn?!” 

“What?” 

Silence. 

“You can’t be serious... It was what, your first time missing practice yesterday in three years? Why is he making this such a big deal?” 

Rolling her eyes, Rey pats her best friend’s back in an attempt to alleviate his sudden distress as seen by the flare of his nostrils and widening of deep brown eyes before he sets his turkey sandwich down. 

“He’s being so dramatic,” Finn scoffs. “He’s probably just pissed that Coach Ematt made them run a couple of extra laps.”

Pushing his chips around, he sets aside a pile of baked potato slices at the edge of his tray. 

Rey takes notice and instantly begins her quest to finish them off as her friends continue to talk. Or at least she tries to with her head resting comfortably on Finn’s shoulder. 

Unable to hold back a retort, she swallows the last salty remnants of her chips and decides to dissolve the tension in the air. “Honestly, Rodinon should be thankful. He could probably use all that extra running to build _some_ muscle. Everyone knows he should be on the bench, but of course his dad complained about his prodigy’s talent wasting away and we all know—” she continues mockingly, “if you piss off Sr. Rodinon, you take away most of the funding for our sports programs. It’s all corruption, I say!” 

Snickering, Finn bumps her head with his. “You said what we were all thinking, peanut.” 

 

With a sarcastic smile, he looks down to see Rey pulling up the offensive post on her phone. 

“Ugh, don’t.” 

His groan pauses her movements as she gives him a sly smile in return.

Looking to Jessika, Rey extends her legs until they kick the girl’s nearest calf underneath the table. 

“Ow! Dammit, Rey. I’m literally right here,” she whines as her hands rub an invisible wound. 

“Yeah, I know you’re right in front of me. Which is why your reply to Mitaka is so unnecessary,” she mischievously giggles. 

This causes Finn’s head to quickly turn to her, meal no longer holding his attention once again. “Wait, what now?” 

 

Tongue poking her cheek, Jessika flashes him a bright smile. “I may or may not have just told him to grow some balls and say what he wants face-to-face instead of on the internet.”  Her high-pitched voice causes him to lose his appetite as he shoves the tray away from him. 

Not a fan of wasting food, Rey finishes off his leftover green grapes. 

“Jessika, you do realize that by replying to him on that stupid platform, we’re literally doing what he did and not talking face-to-face, right?” Finn crosses his arms. 

 

Both girls at the table exchange facetious looks before Jessika looks Finn in the eyes with a smirk. 

“Welcome to 2018, bud. If you think anyone’s confronting their problems dead-on, you got another thing coming.”

 

* * *

 

The shrill sound of the bell alerts the end of lunch and last vestiges of freedom until the end of the school day. For now, Rey begins her dreaded walk towards her meeting with her academic counselor, Mr. Skywalker. 

“Well, don’t look _so_ happy to see me. Your smile nearly blinded me, you should do it more often.” 

She only has to endure this for the next half an hour or so. 

Thirty minutes on the dot. 

 

Stepping into the small room, she sets her backpack on the floor before patting down her uniform skirt to cross her legs and sit. She supposes the view isn’t too bad thanks to the open windows behind the bearded man sitting in the cozy space his work desk allotted for him as his arms rested across his stomach with clasped hands. 

“Give me an actual reason to smile more and then maybe I will.”

 

Golden-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of the man’s nose are suddenly pushed back up as his eyes lift from the computer in front of him to regard her. The blue light emanating from the digital screen paints his features with a stern filter. Or maybe that’s just because she knows he was looking at her school record. 

“Rey—”

“I was just joking—” 

With a tired sigh, Luke Skywalker’s aged hands remove his glasses as he rubs their deep imprint left on his nose below bushy eyebrows. “I’m guessing nothing’s come up since we last met, huh?” 

Rey offers her best apologetic smile. “I... Well, I _did_ do some browsing,” her fingers mimic the typing she did on her laptop, “but there was nothing… good enough to attach my name to, you know?” Her hands fall to her lap as she feels her face twist into a grimace once that response leaves her mouth. 

She knows it’s weak. 

“Kid, it honestly doesn’t matter. Let me tell you something—all these college admissions people are basically putty. You don’t think they get the same kids with the same story and same AP classes and extracurricular activities all the time?” 

Mr. Skywalker’s passionate outburst most likely comes from his past as a previous professor at New York University. “Sure, go ahead and spruce up some stuff, but at some point, it just becomes the lottery, pick and choose for the sake of getting through applicants that are one and the same.” 

 

Rey stops picking at her nails as she battles how to properly vent how she just doesn’t know what to do when her problem is she has not one subject she’s particularly passionate about or good enough to get a job associated with its contents. Volunteer work was the second best option and even then it seemed elementary compared to what some of her friends were already doing.

She's a legal adult at 18 years of age, yet feels as though finding out you don't put aluminum foil in the microwave or eating spoonfuls of ice cream for breakfast isn't appropriate is a fresh concept.

Is it normal to feel content with the present while dreading existing in the future? 

"I don't think I'm good enough for the things you think I am," is instead all she can voice aloud without looking crazy.

 

Mr. Skywalker waits patiently enough as she laments beneath his stare. 

“If you don’t put yourself out there and experience new things, how do you truly know whether you like it or not or whether you’re good at it or not? Not everything in the world is a reflection of your World History or Literature classes this semester, Rey. There’s more to it than that.” 

Clearing his throat, he takes a hold of his “Welcome to Colorado!” mug to sip the milky coffee she knows must be full of Splenda sweetener—he always frequented the break room before and after school when student council was holding their meetings to steal those pink artificial sucrose packets by the dozen. It was a guilty pleasure interrupting his actions when she would walk into the room just as Kaydel Connix would take the stand to talk about school dance themes. She’d pretend not to notice what he was doing while she faked looking for a missing item she “must’ve left behind” that day. 

 

“In fact, let’s take a look right now—” her mind is reeled back to reality when his last utterance is prolonged as his fingers clatter away on his keyboard in search of answers. 

“I swear I didn’t just google ‘events available near me’ and click on the first result.” Lie. “I just thought maybe I could ask my parents if they have an opening I could help out with and—” 

“Stop right there.” The mouse (god, who _still_ used those?) attached to his keyboard continues to click away. “Nepotism is good and all once you’re out in the real world and can use those connections, young lady. But I’ll tell you right now that you’re giving in too easily if you think this is the only route you can go. Besides, it won’t feel as earned should you do that—who knows if you’re actually being helpful or lying?” 

“But you just said like a minute ago it was okay to lie a little since everyone gives the same story and it’s like a lottery! Honestly, I think it won’t be a big deal—” 

“I never said that!” 

“Okay maybe, but you _implied_ it. Spruce, embellish, _lie_...” Her pointed gaze urges him to catch on. 

“I now see why you have a B- in your English class, by the way. Your comprehension skills aren’t exactly all there.” 

“ _Point is_ —you’re supposed to be encouraging me and helping me out here.” 

“Yes. And I am. By not lying.”

 

A look at the clock by his messy bookshelves aligned with scuffled and new book spines lets her know there are only a few minutes left of this torture. 

“Mr. Skywalker,” she resignedly sighs, “I appreciate your working endlessly to help me out, but I’m good with ‘ _okay_.’ Sure I won’t get into Ivy League, but I’ve already accepted that and quite frankly, I’m fine with not having that much pressure on me. Besides, California is just as great, if not better, to move to. The weather’s great all year ‘round.” 

“First of all, we’re talking about your education and future. Secondly, you’re not looking into buying coastal real estate. _‘California is just as great,_ ’” he lets out a mocking chortle. A roll of the eyes would complete his look of distaste at her opinion. 

Just as she’s about to continue their spar of words, his ancient printer chooses the right moment to cut her off as it loudly beeps out papers galore. 

Collecting the job listings printed onto blue construction paper, Mr. Skywalker walks around Rey as he begins to look for a convenient writing utensil.

 

A minute passes.

More rustling of papers continue as drawers open and close.

 

“Oh my god, Mr. Skywalker, here!” Digging into her worn canvas bag, she digs out a red gel pen she rarely used.  Come to think of it, she may or may not have taken it from the empty pencil holder across from her ages ago and never returned it.

Taking the ballpoint from her thin fingers, he uncaps the tool and begins muttering to himself something about the Calculus teacher, Mr. Tekka, borrowing and never returning his things.

 

One more minute.

 

Playing the professional, she spies his feigning of going over all the listings before he decides to randomly circle certain titles. 

“There! I already did all your work and compiled these offers. If you’re still not confident, then sure, help your parents out. The least you could do is come back in two weeks’ time and let me know you took the plunge and got yourself something to do outside of here, kid.” He caps her red pen and hands it back to her along with the now-stapled papers. 

“You’re a bright person, Rey. You just haven’t found the right motivation to spark up your ambition. E-mail me about how it goes.” 

 

With her belongings in tow, she exits his room and leans against the sturdy door that quietly closes behind her.

 

_Ping._

 

Even though she’s more than ready to call it a day, her phone’s notification reminds her she still has two more periods of class left. 

Looking at the time above the text, she notes they ended right on time. 

Like clockwork.

 

* * *

 

“Ten bucks he’s gonna cry.” 

“Can we double it if I just smack him with my Chemistry book and get it over with already?” 

“Poe! You just can’t hit people like that. At least wait until there aren’t any witnesses around, idiot.” 

“...and so I firmly believe that we, as a unanimous student body, should abolish next month’s October’s haunted Halloween maze at school. Its scare factor is quite frankly, not family friendly anymore, thanks to _someone,”_ Richard Rodinon pauses to single out Poe Dameron casually sitting across from him at their student council table, “deciding it would be funny to mess around with the fog machine and literally suffocate people.” 

Poe waves his hands dismissively. “No one but you complained, Mitaka. You’re just upset you had to use your inhaler in front of Paige Tico last year.”

 

Smiling to herself, Rey continues to focus on finishing her Statistics homework Jessika was not so subtly copying off of. “You do realize I’m not exactly all too sure about what I’m doing yet, right Jess?” 

“We’re on the same boat,” she responds bluntly. “Besides, Rose is at that open house in Cornell. So that leaves you as the best option at the moment.”

Although she knew her good friend meant no insult, it still stung knowing she was second best. Especially when it came to the subject of math, which she wasn’t so shoddy at like most of the population.

_ Second best.  _

More runner-up nominee than actual prom queen.

More A- student than A+.

 

“—Rey! Jessika! We need hands up or down, c’mon. _Focus_.” Rodinon's visage was turning red now. 

He actually did look pretty close to crying seeing how everyone was shutting down his idea. 

Finn might actually come out ten bucks richer after all this was over. 

It’s the strawberry blond Junior, Sol Rivas, who manages to silence everyone by reminding them this is the only issue they have to tackle on today’s agenda before they can leave early. “So seriously, just raise your hands for ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ when called. I’m starving and Threepio’s three-for-one mix n’ match combo ends like in an hour.” 

Eight “yes” hands raise to continue their school’s three-year tradition of their Halloween Haunted House fest. 

Two “no” hands barely raise themselves as their owners mumble in defeat.

 

The sun is still out when Rey shuts her locker in a silent hallway before deciding there's just enough time to make a side trek to Kanata’s ice cream shop for a scoop or two of her old-fashioned vanilla waffle cone to end her day on a borderline good note.

Ice cream for breakfast or before dinner may have been deemed inappropriate at 18 years old.

It was a good thing she rarely paid mind to rules.

 

* * *

 

Children giggling with their parents in the veranda tables of Maz Kanata’s store greet her as she makes way into the sweet-smelling abode. Stone steps patterned in candy-cane swirls lead to the entrance where bell chimes sounded as the doors swung open and close throughout the day. Aided by the twinkling strings of lights hanging from wooden ceiling beams, she makes her path towards the minty green panels holding the selections of sweet flavors beneath a layer of reflective glass. 

“I like how you always look around as though you’re going to try something different. Makes it believable enough to where I think you might actually get a new flavor for once,” Maz Kanata’s voice floats to her ears over the pop song playing on the speakers. 

A smile makes its way onto Rey’s face as she turns to face the nice old lady. 

“It’s been a while, Maz,” she shrugs  before placing a crisp five dollar bill on the counter. 

Maz chuckles as she pats her hand before placing the bill into the nearby cash register. “Give me just a moment, doll. I’ll hand you your favorite cone in a minute.” 

 

Putting her wallet back into her bag, Rey pulls her cardigan sleeves down further to cover her hands for added warmth.

It was nearing the end of September and the weather in Kent always tended to get brisk once the afternoon sun could no longer radiate its warm rays. 

Her school attire consisting of a white t-shirt, rolled-up plaid skirt, and white knee-high socks with sneakers barely did anything to help her situation. The thin cardigan she packed in her bag that morning wasn’t turning out to be the wisest of choices, but the urge to satisfy her sweet tooth overrode the decision to stay indoors because of the cold weather.

 

A particular seat by the window overlooking the street was her favorite spot. 

It was there she was always able to watch people undetected as they laughed, made secret behind-the-back gestures, or did something just plain weird. Many times she’d send her friends videos of dogs pulling their owners by the leash down the sidewalk too fast they’d end up tripping over their feet. Sometimes, if she was feeling risky enough, she’d snap really quick pictures of cute guys and send them over to her girls-only group chat simply waiting for a debate to happen. 

** Rose: Oh, god no. Rey, please. Tell me you’re not thinking of hitting that. **

** Jessika: Shut up, Rose. He’s a cutie! Go get his number. He’s sitting alone too. Maybe u can both eat together. **

** Kaydel: ... Is he even our age? It’s kind of hot that he looks like he’s in college omg. **

 

Kaydel’s typical last message rings true in her head as her thoughts go interrupted when across the street a towering figure captures her attention as he strolls down the pavement looking like he’s headed straight for Kanata’s. 

The sunglasses shielding his eyes may hide his face, but it’s his massive body that betrays his desire for anonymity. 

Not only does his height give him away, but his choice of clothing look out of place in a small town like Kent where everyone dressed for the weather, not runway events. The dark gray scarf wrapped around his neck easily looked like it cost a whole paycheck her mother earned in a _lucky_ month. 

The stranger’s hands remained hidden in dark jeans seemingly tailored to flatter his strides. 

He was a walking advertisement for luxurious wealth and sinful temptations with his red cold-weather bitten lips and dark jet waves of hair unfair for a subject of the male species to possess.

 

Realizing she'd been staring a bit too long for her liking, she quickly looks down as she tucks a rebel strand of brown hair behind her ear. Reaching into her bag, she pulls out her phone in an attempt to look preoccupied as the door’s bells signal his arrival. 

She isn’t so sure whether or not a quiet gasp escapes her lips when he speaks his first words loud enough for her to hear. 

It would be straight out of a romance novel had his deep voice said anything _but_ what he actually said at the front counter.

“May I have some of the Tiger Tail ice cream, please? One—err, two scoops.” His gloved hands pull out a glossy red card from his no-doubt authentic leather wallet that puts her ripped one to shame. 

“Sure! Just a minute though, mister. Gotta give my favorite doll her treat first.” 

Maz heads straight her way holding her now childishly boring ice cream choice in her hands.

 

This encounter wouldn’t be so embarrassing had she stopped there. 

Instead, Maz makes it a point to hammer in the final nail to her coffin.

 

“Every time it’s the same ol’ thing. Vanilla this or chocolate that. We need more people like _you—_ ” her fingers point to the startled man once she hands Rey her cone, “to liven things up around here! Set up shop since 1979 and you'd be surprised at how some things don't change even though good Ol' Blue Eyes no longer croons on the radio or the radios themselves have antennas...” 

Before Maz can pick up the ice cream scooper behind the counter again, a loud clang sounds from the backdoor presumably where the employees hung out. 

“Oh, for the love of all things. Could you give me a minute, please? Or—actually, Rey, dear—could you serve this customer while I go check in the back? You know the drill. Just gotta make sure some of my teens don’t off themselves by the freezer. Last time, Jake Spinnler got stuck in there...” Her voice trails off as the backdoor slams loudly over the new top-40 pop song playing on the speakers.

 

The man shuffles his feet awkwardly before scrutinizing her. His hands undecidedly clench and unclench before he begins to slowly backtrack his path in an attempt to escape the store without notice, most likely deciding the wait wasn’t worth the trouble. 

“No! Wait—I can seriously get you your stuff.” 

The chair she sat upon noisily scuffles back as she puts her cone in a stacked logo cup. Taking the abandoned ice cream scooper Maz left behind in one hand and an empty blue-patterned cup in her other, Rey prepares to give the man his treat only to realize she doesn’t know which flavor he wants from just looking at the tubs before her reach since the name labels faced the front.

As if sensing her struggle, the man fractionally relaxes his pose and taps the area on the glass pane where his selection lies below. 

It’s certainly an interesting looking thing. 

A bright orange hue mixed with black swirls that didn’t look so appetizing and more like something she could ask Maz to bring over for her school’s Halloween party where spooky and creepy snacks were lined up like a buffet in the auditorium. She’s sure it would bode well next to the eyeball cake pops and chopped-hand cookies.

 

“It looks weird, but it’s promising.”

How on earth can a person sound so baritone and manly, yet unsure and soft like a boy? 

“They only serve this up north in Canada, but when I found out this place had some, I just had to stop by and see for myself.” 

Scooping out the last portion of his serving, Rey walks to the cash register and rings up his order. “Yeah, well, Maz won’t let you down. She’s the best, seriously.” Looking up, she flashes him her rehearsed smile—the one where her cheekbones are further accentuated to slim her youthful face and keep her rosy lips looking just plump enough. 

“Are you from Canada? You don’t have an accent,” her words trail off. "Wait, no—you don’t have to answer that. That was rude!” She’s prattling. “Here’s your card.” 

The black jacket hugging his frame crinkles as he shoves his wallet back into his pocket. 

“I didn’t think you were rude. All teenagers are to be expected to be inquisitive by nature, I guess.” The hint of a smile on his face seems nostalgic. “Besides, you're correct—I’m not from around here, or rather, I am. Now. _Now_ as is in I just moved here actually...” His full lips disappear from view as he bites back his tongue. 

“Well, if teenagers are inquisitive, are adults ramblers by nature too?” She can’t help but supply back. It was too easy. 

 

She feels a reckless rush of confidence coursing through her veins knowing this tall Grecian statue of a man was verbally constructing run-on sentences in her presence. Sure, maybe it wasn’t _because_ of her as much as it was because of his reserved mannerisms, but _still_... His apprehensive nature and bare face made him look as though he were a college student and it was this image of him that kept her brave enough to flirt as best as she could. 

A college student was attainable (she knows from past experience), a sleek older businessman, however? That was a comedic tragedy waiting to cast her as the main star. 

No matter, his clothes and distinct aura were warning her intuition this was no boy she could regularly mess around with; college students only ever came back to Kent during the holiday season to reconnect with family.

It was barely about to be October. 

So, who was this man?

 

His responding chuckle takes her by surprise. 

“No, no.” His hands look enormous as he cradles the cup and corresponding spoon to his upper chest. “I suppose all humans never truly age out of their quirks. Stilted conversations, craving sweet things late at night,” he raises his cup. “It was nice meeting you, however. Please give the owner my thanks as well.” 

With a look down at his sterling silver watch, he begins his steps out of the store and away from her.

 

Rey has always been content with her routine. 

Sure, sometimes unplanned events could make her head warm and stomach giddy. 

However, most of the time, she was too much of an astrological Leo to truly appreciate the wrenches thrown in her plans without some kind of forewarning. 

But the small smile the dark stranger leaves her with as he exits from her view is one that not only makes her head warm and stomach giddy, it’s one flutter of a heartbeat she can’t help but hope to recapture again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just love it when stories are so lighthearted in the beginning? :) 
> 
> If you got to the end and still decided to stick around for the ending notes, I wish we could share a trip to a café so we could sip on upcoming holiday drinks. Cheers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Routine was all Rey Andor knew and held dearly onto.
> 
> If something wasn’t broken, there was no reason to disrupt the pattern. 
> 
> She just never imagined the obstacle to break and shatter her mold of the world would appear in the form of a tall stranger moving into her quaint neighborhood with years of navigating adulthood she had yet to experience, a credit score to boast about, a steady job and income, and a shiny black sports car he drove complete with a silver band tied around his left-hand's fourth finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the support shown in the first chapter. That was pretty chill :)

She’d been lying in bed for the last twenty minutes after slamming her alarm to the point it fell to the floor.

Carpeted floor, thank god.

Her mother would have her head if it broke after enduring the shopping trip Rey begged her to take when she finally got permission to renovate her childhood room to one more befitting of a teenager. Long gone were the Barbie houses and fairytale stencil markings on the walls with glow-in-the-dark stickers plastered everywhere and in came the makeup vanity, study desk, and expanded closet space.

 

The television across from her continues to play its programmed weekend cartoons with some new show where animated animals walked around singing songs and driving cars.

She smirks in amusement as she remembers how she doesn’t even have a car, much less a permit to drive around with. That would’ve been of great benefit for a boring Saturday like this.

 

Normally, she is a morning bird.

Pouring coffee into a mug from the kitchen pantry is more of a treat than it is necessary.

However, last night, as she was making her way back from the end of her nightly run, she’d spotted two U-Haul trucks casually parked down the street from her house. Noises could be heard from within the two-story that was the only dwelling with lights on past 10 o’clock. The scuffling of furniture and voices yelling out orders could be heard until midnight.

While she is a morning bird, indeed, she also happens to be a highly light sleeper.

So attuned to any movements and their resonating sounds, she’s constantly on the look for effective fuzzy earmuffs for nightwear. Last night, luck would have it that she couldn’t find them anywhere in her room. Realizing she must’ve accidentally thrown them into her mother’s laundry basket, she made peace with her mistake and laid wide awake until witching hour.

 

Just as the show went for its fourth commercial break, she decides to let her parents know she is still alive.

Even if somewhat cranky.

 

It’s 7 A.M. on a Saturday morning and she plans on completing a checklist so she doesn’t have to see Mr. Skywalker soon again.

Her hair straightener heats up to its usual setting as she opens her closet. Trying to find the most professional attire she can wear, a form-fitting dark green blazer over her white school button-up blouse and black peg pants come to sit all over her bed. Next up, she digs through a drawer for her concealer, mascara, red lipstick, and créme blush.

When the rosy blush dusts the apple of her cheeks, she has cheekbones similar to the ones her mother was blessed with. Putting on red lipstick accentuates her cupid’s bow to look just like the feminine curve her mother gets complimented on as well. When her brows and eyelashes are darkened a tad more than their natural brown, she gets as close as she can to the color of her father’s thick hair. Time spent out sitting in the sun has bronzed her skin to a golden shade her father says reminds him of the sun he played under as a child in his native country.

She looks like a product of them when her look is complete, all components adding up.

 

Twenty minutes later and she’s finally happy with the reflection staring back at her in the full-length mirror. With newly sleek hair parted down the middle, her hands flatten her tucked-in blouse one last time as she straightens her elevated posture thanks to the black T-strap heels adding inches to her already tall height.

Outfit? Check.

Makeup? On point.

The plan for today? Ambush her mom into giving her a job because why subject yourself to possible failure when there is an easier way out.

 

* * *

 

Downstairs, the kitchen is already bustling as Rey’s mother busies herself scrambling eggs for breakfast. Her dad must still be upstairs getting ready, she thinks.

Jyn Andor opens the silver fridge door to grab the oat milk for her coffee when she spots her daughter strutting into the room.

Doing a double-take, her eyes widen. “Honey, is it Monday? I thought it was Saturday—where on earth are you possibly going for school dressed like that?”

“Mom, relax. You’re fine. It’s the weekend.” The woman’s frazzled demeanor dissipates, but Rey decides she isn’t finished just yet. “However, don’t you think you’ve been working yourself a little too hard if you can’t even remember what day it is?”

Sitting down on the island’s barstool, she grabs a green apple from the fruit bowl. “I don’t know mom—I think you could use some extra help...” Her words linger as she rolls the apple in her hands.

 

She’s set the bait and now it’s a waiting game to see if her mother catches on.

Chuckling, Jyn sets down three plates before clearing her throat and sitting across from her. “You don’t think I can see right through you?” Her eyes shine in mirth as she leans her temple on a hand. “You want to help me? Is that why you’re so dressed up—to impress me?”

Rey puffs out a breath as she finally hunches her back. “Ugh, mom. You’re supposed to play along and at least wait to hear why I’m qualified to help you out.” She forks around her scrambled eggs before taking a bite.

 

Her mother has always been self-aware. It’s a trait she wishes she possessed just as much.

 

“Well, why on earth should I let you help me?”

“Well, first off,” she leans over and steals a sip of her mother’s coffee, “I’m your daughter. Second of all, look how cute we’d both be together.”

An incredulous smirk appears on her mother’s face.

“Imagine how many more customers you’d get because they’d take one look at us and be like ‘d’awww look at that mother-daughter unit. I wanna support family business.’ Third of all, how hard can putting meetings in a calendar be? I already do that for personal things and for school since I do happen to be the school secretary.”

Jyn sits quietly in interest for a moment as Rey’s words sink in. “Do you think all I do is tap some words onto my phone and ‘voila!’ my job is done until I recreate someone’s Pinterest board?”

 

Before Rey can even respond, her father enters the room leaving a trace of cologne in his wake.

“What about Pinterest?” His lips grace her mother’s hairline as he kisses her good-morning.

Whatever is about to come out of his mouth next disappears as he looks at his daughter. “Well, jeez. Is this what girl scouts are wearing nowadays to sell cookies? ‘Hello sir, have you happened to take a look this morning at the stock market? By the way, would you like some thin mints?’”

Her parents laugh as she rolls her eyes unamused. “No. However, I am interviewing for a job. Well, sort of. Anyways, Mom—back to the subject, all I want to do is help. I’m fully capable of doing so.” She makes her way to the sink and turns on the faucet while feeling her mother’s critical eyes watching her kiss-up as she coats the sponge in dish soap.

Nevertheless, she continues. “Besides, think of all the free time you’d have if I take over the easy stuff that you won’t have to fret over. Your creativity could grow tenfold.”

Jyn shares a look with her husband who busily bites away at his toast with strawberry jam.

“I don’t think it would hurt, honey. Aren’t you always sad your little honey-bee isn’t buzzing around the house anymore?” His words earns him a smack in the bicep from the woman he so dearly loves.

“See, mom? Even dad thinks this would be a great opportunity!”

“Alright, alright,” her mother surrenders as she shakes her head with a smile. “Your first assignment: Come with me today to my dinner appointment at 5pm.”

 

The victorious smile drops from Rey’s face. “Wait, what?”

Her mother raises an eyebrow. “Oh what? You didn’t think my work would just all of a sudden fit your schedule, did you?”

She did. Sort of.

At the very least, she thought her mother would negotiate good hours for her taking into account her status as a full-time student. Not to mention, she planned on carving out time in her week where she would still be able to hang out with friends.

 

Metaphorically, she wanted her cake and she wanted to eat it too to show Marie Antoinette a thing or two.

“But, I promised Finn that we would—”

“And let that outfit go to waste at Calrissian’s pizza parlor?” her mother shoots back in fake astonishment.

 

See, if Rey was self-aware like her mother was, she would’ve gotten the hint as to how selfish she was being. She would’ve had a speech all prepared about how academic journals demonstrate that it’s best to ease into new habits in order to excel at performing them.

She wouldn’t have to be preparing for a dinner there'd be no cake to eat in self-indulgence.

 

* * *

 

“Well, that sucks. That we won’t get to see you later, I mean. Not that you’re finally in the workforce,” Finn pauses as the background chatter becomes too loud over the phone. “We could always watch that new horror movie coming out tomorrow, though?”

“True. I just wish I didn’t have to deal with an old couple on my Saturday night, you know?” Rey leans back on the couch, head resting on the armrest.

 

Calling Finn for reassurance wasn’t out of the ordinary.

As her best friend, he’d been there countless of times when she needed encouragement or logic to prevent her from doing something that would result in her parents picking her up from a jail cell at 2 in the morning. He’d been there when she worried she’d die from cooties when Kieran Graf pecked her on the lips in kindergarten, when she had to spend lunch breaks in the bathroom waxing her braces because they were cutting into her lips, when she went on her first date with her first-ever boyfriend sophomore year, when she cried for weeks after getting dumped by said boyfriend, when they both drank for the first time ever, and when she ate an edible that made her hallucinate Cruella De Vil and eventually puke her guts out.

 

“Mhm. Could you imagine if they pull out a mood-board or something when you ask them about decorating? How old are they, even?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. I also don’t appreciate your visions.”

“Maybe not, but expect that in your near future.”

A groan escapes her lips. “I know I’m coming off ungrateful, but I really just thought I’d have time to get situated.” Her legs lift from the cushions as they fall against the puffy pillows.

 

Her mother had driven to town to conduct video calls in her office suite over an hour ago. Bored out of her mind, she entertained the idea of maybe walking on over to a convenience store and purchasing some type of greeting card or even flowers to show her mother she was thinking ahead in making their dinner guests more comfortable to open up their wallets.

As if reading her mind, Jyn Andor chooses that exact moment to intercept her phone call with Finn.

“Oof,” her phone slips from her hands and into the side of her neck. “Finn, I’ll call you back in a bit. The boss is calling.”

“Alright, Peanut. Save me some filet mignon if you’re going to that shmancy fancy restaurant in town. Text me.”

 

The line transfers not a second later.

“—ey!” Her mother’s voice quickly cuts in.

“Yes, mom?”

“I need you to do me a favor, honey. Can you go check your dad’s wine collection? I just spoke to our clients from tonight and the lady was telling me how they just recently moved into their new house. We need a housewarming gift,” her words come out in a rush before she can manage a breath.

“Yeah, sure.” Rey pinches the phone in between her shoulder and ear. These guests must be special if a bottle of wine has to be pulled out apparently. “Any idea which one to get?”

She ambles over to the lined-up bottles sitting at a slight angle.

“Um, okay. Think celebration?” A lightning gasp sounds from the phone. “Oh! I know— champagne. Look for a moderately expensive one that says ‘oooh, nice’ and not ‘woah, showoff.’”

“Yeah, mom, that’d be great, but I, uh, I don’t really know what’s a good brand for champagne? Come on. You always drink with dad at night, you know this better than I do!”

Her mother groans. “No, you’re right. You can’t even drink so why am I expecting you to know these things. Well,” she sighs, “I remember when your dad got promoted last year we opened a champagne bottle. I think it was something like Perrier Jouët... it was really French-sounding and pretty. Do you see it anywhere there?”

 

A quick glance leaves her empty-handed. Crouching down, she comes across zero names similar to the one her mother offered either.

“I don’t really have that much time, honey. Another call is coming through—” she could hear her mother shuffling around, “dammit. Rey, I gotta take this call. Just call me if the bottle is—”

“Yes!” She blurts out. “It’s right here, mom. Don’t worry about it. I got it handled.” Lie.

She shuts her eyes and softly bangs her head on the wall behind her.

“Oh! Perfect. Alright, honey. I gotta go. Make sure you freshen yourself soon, we leave in four hours.”

 

In an instant, her fingers venture to her messages as she scrolls past conversations she has yet to reply back to and unread greetings she could care less about until she catches the name she’s looking for.

Poe Dameron.

Poe was a charmer. Since the first day she arrived in Kent, he wasted no time making Rey blush with his antics. A year older than the rest of their class, girls wanted him and boys wanted to be him. The six-year-old hellion was the first kindergarten student to ask her to play a game with him and his friends when she was the foreign, new kid with a funny accent. Seeing how Poe accepted her so readily made others eager to make playdates with her and share their celery-and-peanut butter lunches. Over the years, her trusted friend decided life was best spent when breaking the rules—it was a knack that got him in trouble plenty of times, but also led him to shake hands with questionable people that sold them their first highs and bought them their first cans of cheap beer.

If you wanted something done, Poe was the guy you went to.

 

**Rey: Hey Poe! I need your help pls.**

A minute passes before his response pops up.

**Poe: Yo Rey—what’s up?**

**Rey: Do you still have that fake ID Krennic made for you before he got suspended last semester?**

**Poe: lol what a loser. But yeah I still have it.... y?**

**Rey: Wellll, I need you to come pick me up at my house. STAT. I’ll explain everything later. Just make sure you bring your card.**

**Poe: Kk. Finn and Kaydel are with me right now tho. Is it cool if they come along?**

**Rey: Yeah. The more the merrier.**

**Poe: Perfect. I’m down to get wasted tonight.**

**Rey: ... Just hurry up.**

 

* * *

 

Poe’s car sits crookedly parked in the driveway of her house after he somehow managed to go over the bump at the end of the curb. She scurries on outside and jumps into the backseat of his car next to Finn while she still has the nerves to do so.

Holding Poe’s eyes, she tries to exude a calm composure despite feeling anything but that while buckling her seatbelt.

“Okay, do you have your card?”

“Of course,” he scoffs. “It was right next to my fake medicinal wee—”

“Yeah, okay,” she interrupts his recounting. “I need you to take me to Noshey’s Whole Foods... to buy some champagne,” reaching into the pocket of her blazer she pulls out a folded note. “Specifically, a Perrier-Jouët Grand Brut NV bottle.”

 

Poe’s mouth opens and closes as he takes in her words.

Clearly, he’d just been expecting a quick run to the liquor store they always hit up.

 

It’s Kaydel who eventually breaks the silence, of course. “Oh! I love Noshey’s. But are you sure you wanna go there instead of the liquor store?”

“Yes!” Rey responds as she smooths the annoying flyaways of her hair. “That place will check your ID way more harshly than Noshey’s will. It’s simple, really: If you wanna buy more classy booze with a fake ID go to a place where they can identify fifty different types of lettuce instead of the establishment that literally specializes in selling alcohol and sees real ID’s on the regular.”

“True,” Finn butts in as he pours a handful of orange Tic-Tacs onto his palm. “But what about that guy you know who works at the liquor store, Poe? Maybe he might have the hook-up?”

“Nah, he only works there over the summer. I have no clue where he disappears off to the rest of the year...” His fingers tap a beat on the car’s steering wheel before he shifts the gear into reverse, having decided their destination apparently. “I agree with Rey. Noshey’s it is, gang!”

 

Only once the object of her stress is tightly gripped in the clutch of Poe’s hands as he walks out the automatic double doors does Rey allow herself to stop wringing her own hands.

With a quirk of his lips, he pats a messily torn bit of paper in his pockets containing smudged numbers belonging to the cashier on deck and cockily reminds Rey to have more faith in him. 

 "God's gift to mankind, how could I forget?" She shakes her head.

 

Sure, this might have been an illegal activity, but she got stuff done for a mature cause. So it’s like PEMDAS in her mind—the good cancels out the bad.

 

* * *

  

Enough time has passed before she arrives back home.

Going off of the adrenaline from their successful mission, the foursome decided to test their luck at the nearby liquor store and buy vodka for a little shindig Poe spontaneously texted the rest of their class about after horrendously parallel parking by her house. 

“I really wish you could make it tonight, Peanut.” Finn’s puppy eyes induce a pout from her.

“Don’t tempt me.” Tucking her hair behind both ears, she picks up the bag in between her knees before saying goodbye and entering her house.

 

It was 4 o’clock already.

No sounds came from inside the residence which meant her father was still at work and her mother must still be on her way back from town.

Still wearing her outfit from this morning, she decides she’s ready as she’ll ever be.

The grocery bag gets thrown into the trash as she places the champagne bottle on a coffee table. Her running steps are muffled on the carpeted stairs as she decides to wait for her mother in her room.

 

With nothing but the company of floating dust particles only perceptible in the slivers of light entering through her half-open blinds and the humming of the freezer in the kitchen downstairs, she notes how the permanent negative voices she carries in her head all day lie dormant for the time being.

It’s quiet around her as the light outside transitions into a darker color palette with hues of sleepiness and cars entering their garages from their morning commutes.

 

She might actually be able to pull her own weight off tonight and make her mother proud, she thinks.

The last time she could remember her parents celebrating any of her achievements was when she was voted student council secretary last year.

Secretly, she knew her win was majorly thanks in part to last year’s popular seniors, Paige Tico and Corran Parlayy, who took a major liking to her and spread her name like a wildfire come voting day.

Even then, the easiest path to gain votes was taken as she barely lifted a finger.

Not out of laziness, truth be told. 

Just that age-old fear of failure she wore like a second skin.  

 

Clawing its talons up her stomach and seizing the bottom of her lungs, the familiar feeling of nervousness claims her being.

Her body no longer fights her as it used to as she naturally huddles into her bed with knees drawn up to her chest as she counts to seventy-five with closed eyes.

 

She’s not really sure how much time she’s spent with her hands buried under her pillow in an attempt to still their fidgeting, but she can hear the click of her mother’s heels entering the house over the heavy thudding of the organ in the center of her chest.

“Rey! Honey, are you ready?!”

She's dressed the part, but for the life of her, she feels as though she barely has the energy to lift a hand.

 

Many parties spent blowing out birthday candles had passed before she finally opened her web browser once and asked what she thought was a simple question that would turn up simple answers. It was an innocent search to satisfy a longtime curiosity that started before the internet was made accessible in huge desktops with adjoining processors. 

Since she was a child, she remembered her hands always shaking and feet tapping away to a silent rhythm her bones intrinsically twitched to as nerves jumped in cadence. Her body lead a symphony only she was witness to, front seat ticket always guaranteed.

Most nights she spent restless, worrying about fears, some rational and others not.

The old adults would tell her those were thoughts reserved for grownups, unbefitting to reside in the small mind of the button-nosed child she was.

The threat of throwing up what little sustenance her stomach desperately tried to hold onto always made her concentrate harder on her body than the environment around her.

Sometimes, these shivers and strains would attack her out of nowhere.

 

But most of the time, they were present throughout her days like an unwelcome guest overstaying their visit in the crevices of her mind.

Anxiety, she had found out that particular night when she was just getting to know how to use the keyboard with two hands as per instructions by her father.

Anxiety was the safe, general answer.

 

All her matching symptoms checked out the requirements for such a nervous condition. Problem was that self-diagnosis wasn’t helpful. 

She knew her trepidations could be considered anxious and she knew that most of the easy recommended forms of alleviation did little to ease her debilitations.

There were many things—mainly fears—that kept her from wanting to find out more.

Or worse, ask her parents for help.

 

The brew that worthlessness mixed with defectiveness conjured was toxic and Rey knew that firsthand.

Besides, she was more set in proving her worth to Jyn and Cassian for all they’d done for her. They’d always wanted a daughter and she’d go through hell and back to make sure she lived up to their desired image.

 

Her legs move beneath her before she can give her mother enough time to check up on her.

“Yes! I’ll be down in five,” her voice cracks at the end. Slowly sitting up, a trembling hand retraces the red stain on her lips with the help of her mirror.

A knock on the door startles her out of her trance and causes the colored tube to graze her chin.

“Oh, dang it. I’m sorry, honey.”

Her mother enters the room with a knee-length cocktail dress complete with a scooped neckline. Dark brown hair tied into an elegant side-bun, she leans down to her daughter’s sitting form and tenderly swipes away at her painted skin. “I thought I heard something weird so I came up to check.”

 

Stepping back, Jyn observes her child with silent appraisal. Her eyes do all the talking needed.

“You look beautiful, Rey. You have no idea how happy you’re making this old lady by coming with me tonight.” A slight quivering smile graces her mother’s face.

 

Drawn to the warm hands cupping her jaw, she leans into her mother, arms wrapping around her stomach.

She imagines this is what a newborn feels like when they settle their head against the cushion of a breast. Safe. Put together. Connected by flesh and blood. She thinks this is as close as she can get to that feeling—even if the mother currently holding all her jagged pieces together wasn’t the mother that once held her newborn head against her soft chest.

 

* * *

  

Notes of cedar and fragrant plum airily splash onto the column of her slender neck as Rey stands still waiting for her mother to finish dotting her delicate wrists with the perfume stashed in her car’s glove compartment.

There was some little time left before 5 o’clock would strike so they were minutes early as they walked up to the hostess waiting for them at the front.

“Hello, we’re checking in for our reservation tonight. The name is under ‘Andor,’ please.”

“Of course, ma’am.” The lady trails her pen down a clipboard and crosses off their names. “Please follow me this way,” she motions as she leads them to the back of the restaurant in a table meant to seat four patrons.

 

The Holy Vine was one of Kent’s most fancy dining establishments.

In order to be seated in the premises, a dress code was enforced that only allowed men in business suits and ladies in their finest dresses entry without being denied by a shake of the head from the attractive people manning the front desk.

Needless to say, when her mother’s clients suggested the restaurant would be an ideal place to go over details and contracts, her mother had wanted to bust out champagne for a delectable first-impression. It wasn’t typical she brought her guests over here as meetings in her office or a café with a view of one of their town lakes would serve well enough to talk to potential clients.

 

Through the dim lighting, it was the lady’s dark black hair that caught her attention initially.

Gathered in a sleek low ponytail, the shine of jet black strands reflected the light from the chandeliers. Wearing a fitted sundress that flowed around the very top of her toes, she looked like those models who posed for flashing cameras. The classic kinds with esteem as high as their stilettos.

Point blank—she looked like she had her life together and then some.

 

Her mother stands up from her seat as she waves at the woman who reciprocates the gesture. She’s moving forward when a massive body behind her appears in the form of a tall man clothed in a dressy dark sweater and belted black plants polished off with black oxfords.

Withholding her shocked recognition, she hurriedly looks down at the tablecloth.

Her two forks are on the right on top of a handkerchief. A knife and spoon on the left. In the middle lies the space where her entrée will go within the next half hour or so. In the center of the table sits the bubbly gift she illegally procured.

 

She meets the unwavering eyes of the man equally staring at her in confusion when she manages to control her breathing to a countable tempo.

Two more steps and she can no longer stay sitting down.

 

Making sure this dinner went swimmingly well was more important than any sheepishness she felt squirming in her skin.

 

“Jyn Andor?” The olive-toned lady smiles professionally at her mother. “I’m Bazine Ren. It’s wonderful to finally meet you after so much correspondence.” Both ladies hug each other.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Ren.”

Mrs.? Oh for fuck's sake.

“This is my daughter, Rey.” Her mother smiles at her, eyes silently pleading to act along.

 

She offers her hand in a welcoming shake which the older lady accepts as she sits down.

“Oh, that’s fantastic. We both brought guests it seems.” Grabbing a hold of the man’s hand beside her, she addresses her mother. “This is my husband. We both just moved into town a couple of days ago.”

“I remember you telling me! Well, that’s marvelous,” her mother grins. “Kent is such a beautiful place to establish roots. You both made an excellent choice coming here.”

Mr. Ren nods at her mother. “So I have heard. Thank you for meeting with us at such late notice. I hope this is not too much trouble.” Finished shaking hands with her mother, he turns to face her.

 

Despite the hot embarrassment flooding her throughout at realizing she was trying to flirt with a married man just a few days earlier, Rey decides to speak first before he can admit to their meeting each other beforehand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Ren. Thank you for joining us tonight.”

Her mother’s twinkling eyes reassure her she didn’t stutter or throw up like she was suddenly feeling the urge to do.

 

Mrs. Ren’s eyebrows furrow, however. “Is that your natural accent? It reminds me of the semester I spent studying abroad in England.”

“I—uh, yeah.” Clearing her throat, she’s sure her lipstick isn’t the only thing red.

“Oh, well. Wherever you come from, your manners are lovely.”

She can tell Mrs. Ren wants to go on about her memories abroad, but what doesn’t escape her attention is the flicker of understanding that crosses the man’s eyes too easily as he takes in both Rey and her mother once again. His hand squeezes his wife’s own as she faces him briefly. Whatever he’s communicating through his tense body language, his wife seems to quiet down as she frowns.

 

It’d been years since anyone caught her off guard about her distinct pronunciation of words.

Neighbors from town and classmates from school had long since grown accustomed to her and her family’s presence more than a decade ago when they’d moved into the New England territory from London. More than hating the attention she got from being singled out as being different from her parents was the reminder that she actually  _was_  different from her parents.

 

“Is this your first time ever in Connecticut?” Jyn quickly inquires of the couple in an attempt to divert the topic of the conversation.

“For me, yes. It’s an interesting change,” Mrs. Ren sips her glass of water. “But, you know the saying: when work calls...” she regards her husband. “Kylo is actually from around here. Went to Yale up in New Haven and, well, there are many opportunities here in his line of work. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Placing down the dinner menu, Mr. Ren elaborates. “Connecticut has an extensive history with the field of psychiatry. It seemed,” he hesitates, “an appropriate choice to move here. Nice, safe towns and rich academic institutions—the list could go on.”

 

Rey wonders if he knows the faint lines on his forehead appear when he scrunches his face in thought, giving away his process of searching for words to say as though the English language limits him.

Although his apprehensiveness is still there just as when she first met him at Kanata’s, she can tell he’s choosing his words more carefully this time around. His pauses are appropriate and lack of contractions exceptionally smooth as though he were reciting a lecture with an audience.

 

“I must confess I’m not as familiar with the realm of psychiatry as you are, Mr. Ren,” her mother responds. “However, I can attest to the fact that schools here are wonderful for the preparatory of students when it comes to life.”

Mrs. Ren pins her down with a curious gaze. “I hold your opinion in high esteem, Mrs. Andor. It must be valid if you trust your daughter in handling business alongside you.”

“Of course. Speaking of which, I believe that is the purpose of this dinner so I won’t chatter away. Now, please—have some champagne...”

 

For the next hour, dinner goes by uneventfully.

Hot plates make trips to and fro their table as the low talk of the restaurant fills the atmosphere along with clinks of glasses and haughty laughs.

 

Rey focuses on neatly knifing the salmon in front of her and sipping her iced water without any slurping sounds as her mother and the Rens go over room renderings. When needed, she picks up the pen tucked in her small purse to write down notes her mother snaps her fingers in excitement about. On the agenda are plans to meet in the new household to record measurements.

 

Sometimes, Mr. Ren will look up from his dinner plate and nod or speak one-worded syllables in agreement.

He’s holding himself back, she can tell.

She wonders why.

 

Maybe it’s the fact that she won’t stop glancing at him every minute or so.

She thought she was being discreet, but if he can feel her eyes on him the way she feels his large presence just by sitting a few feet apart, she worries then she’s made him uncomfortable.

 

She’s glad to walk away from the place when nothing more needed to be said or done.

 

The path back to their car is full of comforting words from her mother who places her hand on her lower back as she murmurs how much she loves her and how nothing will ever change that—it’s an attempt to rid the glaze shrouding her misty eyes as Mrs. Ren’s words repeatedly slice through her mind, exposing long-buried insecurities she had about herself and her place in the Andor household.

 

She may lack self-awareness most of the time in comparison to her mother, but she’s sharply tuned to the intonation of voices, the sympathetic crinkling of eyes, and weak attempts at smiles when people find out she is adopted.

 

She knows the look Mr. And Mrs. Ren gave each other and then her when they thought she wasn’t paying attention. She’s seen it many times before in the eyes of sympathetic strangers.

 

And that’s enough reason to turn her sorrow into anger.

 

Who cares what those rich people think. Let them think what they want, she heatedly thinks.

 

Just a few days ago, Kylo talked to her like a normal person. A normal teenager that adults tended to think they were above interacting with.

But she’s familiar with the awkwardness his body holds, the way it tries to hide. She mimics the same movements all the time. Knows it's what people do when they’re keeping secrets.

It doesn’t take an adult to figure that out.

 

And just as sure as she is that Mr. Ren must think he has her figured out, she'll make sure to unravel him all the same.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love building characters and the world they live in when writing stories. I have an outline done for how I want this story to go and I'm v excited to share it with you all in due time <3 
> 
> Of course, tags will be added as the story moves along (to avoid giving away the story all at once ofc) and any notice of such additions will be mentioned in the beginning notes so readers are prepared. 
> 
> I'm on my third cup of coffee for the day and it's already technically nighttime but such is the life of a collegiate addict, innit?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Recreational Drug Use" tag is exactly used for the reasons laid out in this chapter. It's a lil' roller coaster, this chapter here.

The city of Litchfield is home to hundreds of thousands of strangers. 

Considered a historical county due to its preservation of classical houses and its expansive greenery, it battled every day with its proximity to the city that never sleeps. Like siblings that were polar opposites, there lives resistance and fluidity. 

Over the weekends, cars flood the county with weathered survivalists from the urban jungle. Simultaneously, the epicenter of glassy skyscrapers and shoulder-to-shoulder streets becomes inundated with nuclear families of five and their beloved canines munching on hot dogs made by street vendors offering only mustard and no ketchup as urbanites roll their eyes and hastily pace to work.

 

Litchfield, Connecticut was the antithesis to New York City, New York.

 

And in between those older siblings was an ideal, sleepy town nestled in the cradling foothills of the Berkshire Mountains that could be regarded as the young ankle-biter. 

A mixture of metropolitan progressiveness and suburban antiquity—an amalgamation of the siblings it strived to mirror equally for attention, Kent was the little town within a big city that served as the heart of the highlands. 

 

It was a spectacular sight to behold all year-round, but there was _just_ that much more magic in the brisk, clean air when Autumn would announce its arrival in faded greens, yellows, oranges, and reds. Always in top-five lists of perfect foliage towns to visit, this emerging progeny of a town would show up in all its winged charm to wear the winner’s medal.

 

Which is why Rey didn’t mind spending any time she could outside—the highlands were a reward all in of themselves. When the sun was out, the hills and generous copses that dotted them trailed endlessly ahead and behind in her periphery of vision. 

 

But when it was the moon’s turn?

The thinly contorted branches stretched out like skeletal hands. Darkened Fall leaves could be mistaken for nocturnal bats hiding in anticipation for unsuspecting prey. Rustling movements and suspicious shadows were memorialized as the ancient ghosts and witches that generations sermonized in old town myths to scare grandchildren and keep teenagers away from the forest at night. Without lampposts for a good distance, the rural parts of Kent could be dangerous. 

Such danger called to her. 

 

In going after uncertainty in elements that put her in precarious situations, she becomes more certain, _attuned,_ in understanding and controlling her body’s tremors and aches unlike when she’s in the light as exposed as a frayed nerve under the eye of everyone—vanity taking priority over self-preservation. 

 

The first week of October has sprung into town like a black alley cat.

As her long legs charge down the now empty sidewalks of uptown three blocks from her house, she notices the Halloween decorations hanging from stores—the glittery dark spider webs dress the light poles, carved jack-o-lanterns glare in the darkness with waxed candles burning inside them, and scarecrows hold “Do Not Trespass” signs outside closed shops.

It was nice, the unearthly look that the month inspired residents to decorate in celebration. 

It was nice, but it was safe.

 

So she continues down the memorized path her mind automatically traces on feet once it hits nine o’clock at night. 

Fifteen minutes later and the habitual burn begins sparking alight within her stomach.

Twenty minutes later and her shoes feel as though they’re encroaching on her toes, no space left to stretch the digits as they flex.

Thirty minutes later and she can no longer solely breathe through her cold nose. 

A full hour later and a look down at her watch informs her it’s five past ten o’clock on a Tuesday night. The bony branches above greet her in silence as she’s far from home. The proverbial bats watch her warily as they sway in the light wind and the moving shadows continue their age-old dance. She’s finally arrived at her favorite destination as the end of her run reaches point A—State Falls park.

 

She can feel the hint of a tired smile on her face—the muscles there moving on their own accord; no faking necessary. It feels good. 

Laying down on a patch of tall Kentucky bluegrass, she settles comfortably as her sternum heaves up and down in a gripping rhythm. Her eyes close and her head rests on an extended arm planted to the side.

 

When her eyelids unlatch, her vision catches onto a particular shadow.

It’s unlike all the other swaying silhouettes. 

This outline is deadly still. 

The air she was breathing in causes her to choke. 

 

Darkness dissipates in shades of gloomy daffodils when a flame glows close to the ground. Legs clothed in dark jeans and shoes covered in faint dirt marks come into view. 

She’s hypnotized.

 

Good, smart girls would leave and turn to safety. 

But it’s a tiny glimmer that captivates her. The shine of a ring. 

She knows who this man is. It doesn’t matter that she can’t see his face. The dominating profile and larger-than-life hands give him away, even in the dark.

 

What is he doing out so late?

 

Sanguine, lit and scorching, releases smoke in nicotine clouds. The cigarette in between two fingers now burns in between a pair of chapped lips. Inky eyes with dark crescent moons underneath them clash with the pale flesh his body wears like a cloak.

He is a reaper, she thinks. _He is danger_.

 

So she does what good, smart girls wouldn’t do and decides she wants closer.

 

* * *

 

“Do you have an extra coffin nail?”

Hands clench in the pockets of her tight athletic shorts. Her sweatshirt feels cool on her bare skin underneath after having wiped the sweat from her forehead and neck with the cloth covering her arm. The maroon cotton bears the name of Harvard University across her ample chest. 

She suspects he’d been aware of her presence since she trampled across the tall grass, some ways from his seated frame on a wooden park bench. He doesn’t startle or look at her right away. His stare blankly levels where the college word horizontally stretches. 

“Pardon me?” His words leave his mouth in a breath of smoke. Like the act of a magician.

“Cancer stick? Ciggy?” 

She attributes the goosebumps aligning her epidermis from the chilly breeze.

 

A flash of annoyance appears. “You shouldn’t be out so late at night.” He follows his condescension with, “Where are your parents?”

“You shouldn’t be smoking, you know?”

The sight of a man holding such a fatal, venial sin in his hands where one of the holiest promises made before God is solidified in melted silver wrapped around a finger gives her shivers. He’s reverently holding the death stick with careful fingers as his saving grace. 

“I am very well aware of the risks.”

“I don’t think you are,” she snidely smiles.

“I’ve spent many years in medical school,” he simply says.

“Sounds like you didn’t really learn anything then if you’re willingly killing yourself.”

 

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she knows it’s rich coming from her. But he doesn’t know her or her past.

She’s never smoked tobacco before.

 

Rey could answer anyone if they asked her what it feels like to drink jungle juice until their vision blacks out, how it feels like the world around you begins to bleed in technicolor and move so slowly you think you’re in another dimension when you hit a blunt, and in her numb days—if someone asked _very_ nicely—she’d tell you that it _majorly sucked_ coming down from the euphoric rush snorting a line of cocaine would feel like after deceiving you into thinking you could walk a tightrope between two cliffs with a blindfold on knowing you wouldn’t fall, and how ingesting bad white powder was just like shoving shards of serpentine glass up your nostrils until it resulted in a bloody nose and a jackhammer pounding away behind your eyes. 

She found it morbidly funny how she drew the line at _smoking a cigarette_ but not at the rest she’d done.

 

Deeply, she knew _why_ but having come out with it would just result in people telling her it was trauma looking for a quick fix from a lonely childhood she’d be better off giving herself amnesia to forget. Her mother and father were her band-aids, but even nurturing gauze had to be peeled back at times to let wounds heal on their own. If they couldn’t close then the diagnosis wouldn’t look so good for the future of the injured.

 

“Are you okay?” 

It’s a simple question that he asks.

His eyes radiate concern.

She’d taken a long enough pause that lines appeared around his frowning lips, his slouched spine now stood ramrod straight, and the sole of one shoe was perched ready to spring into action and lift his body to carry her should she make impact on the ground.

She understands he’s worried about a teenager passing out in his presence more so than he is asking about her spirits.

 

Clearing her throat, she caves in. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for annoying you,” her larynx makes it difficult to swallow so her legs position themselves criss-cross where it’s easier to breathe sitting down than standing up. 

 

He’s scrutinizing her with a look she can’t place. 

“I’m sorry, too.” A muscle ticks and disrupts the smooth landscape of his shaven jaw. “I know I’m intruding.” 

At this, she looks up at him. “What do you mean?”

His starless eyes are so unlike the night sky above them. Where she floats when she leans back to stare up top at the celestial bodies twinkling among the violet stratosphere, she sinks wordlessly when she meets his bottomless depths of a gaze. Alone. 

“That time at the shop, I recognized you…”

She remains silent. 

“I first saw you here at night, once.”

A sigh escapes him as he continues while staring off past her, “It was when I first got here. I drove by and,” he licks his dry lips, “I thought the worst. I just saw a lifeless body. But then you…” His eyes scrunch as if in confusion. “You sat up and you smiled. You looked happy. When I saw you again at the store, you looked different. I thought I might find what you did then that night by coming here.”

“Have you?” Her fingers have begun to fidget. She pins them beneath her small thighs, a slow anticipation building.

 

The cigarette butt is flicked onto the soil next to his shoes. He doesn’t seem to care if they get dirty. Judging by his white-collared fingers and expensive watch enveloping his left wrist, he could probably just spend whatever they cost him without flinching.

“No. I don’t think so.”

 

Two bodies sit together isurrounded by cadaverous twigs, zealous bats, and ritualistic demons and sirens in pointy hats. The absence of noice is nice.

 

That night, Rey thinks she’s more interested in seeing what lies beyond the gates his body bars the world from observing than she is in the pearly gates that await her in the afterlife like her parents read to her once upon a time. 

When she loops back to point B of her run—her humble house—she barely registers the luminescent numerical hour gawking back at her at three in the morning.

 

* * *

 

A cascade of blue rows open and close as students bobble in and out of her way to her locker. They all look the same. Her included.

In the philosophy of creating unity among hormonal youths, school procedures instruct how it is mandatory of all attending students to wear neatly pressed uniforms when classes are in session.

In response, boys wear their school ties loosely around their necks and girls roll their skirts above the knees to an altitude tethering on the slippery slope of either lenient lectures about appropriate etiquette for young ladies or detention slips. Fridays were the weekday their patience was rewarded when they were allowed to wear free dress.

 

Sadly, today was just the first Wednesday of October. 

Summer’s grip had finally lessened its hold on laidback attitudes as the school year was beginning to ramp up in deadlines and open houses. 

The blues felt in September washed away with styrofoam cups of coffee and late-night munchies at old-school diners with friends who’d finally made their return from long tropical vacations over the past few months.

 

Rey was happy to see her handful of friends. 

Acquaintances were just shiny pennies. They held no use for her until she’d sit in a class void of her most-trusted confidants. Only then would she muster the patience to engage with others so if she ever needed a question answered at midnight about whether or not a paper needed MLA or Chicago-style citations, her ass would be saved from a failing grade. 

She didn’t really have to try hard, either. 

People always tried to talk to her—corner her by the water fountains as she’d fill her reusable bottle (her mother wouldn’t have it any other way), approach her in the school library as she’d look for a certain book stacked in the high shelves, or even stop her after class to make small talk. 

With endearing doll-like features and a posh British accent, she was enthralling. 

The masses wanted to drink her essence until they had their fill.

And she could never say no to that. 

 

Not particularly because she reveled in the attention (sometimes she did), but rather because she didn’t think there was a bone in her body that could say “no.” 

So she’d let them drain her until they began to see how similar she was to a nicely packaged drink with zero calories and sugar. No fizz. No original flavor. 

Pretty boring.

Upsetting people prompted sensations within her that seasoned and stirred a negative broth she’d feel in her stomach for days, its settled contents weighing her down.

If she were a superhero, general disappointment from others would be her kryptonite. 

 

This is exactly why when Jessika materializes out of nowhere as Rey’s going through her locker, she stills in resignation at her request rushed out seconds ago. 

“ _Please, Rey! I told Kei you’d be down for a double-date this Saturday. Him and I and you and Trins. It’ll just be a chill dinner at Streetwise. You love their cheeseburgers down there. Please say you’ll come with your best friend?”_

Kei Celtru and Trins Redd were boys from their school soccer team.

For the longest time since she could remember, soccer—or rather, _football—_ as she’d jokingly correct her friends about their word choice, was Jessika’s favorite sport. In accordance, her fondness for the game extended to the players who’d become her favorite type of boys to date.

Her rationale? If one were to date high school boys because of a lack of college boys around, then it might as well be the athletes. At least then, you’d get to enjoy their bodies in their lean muscular glory of a peak before they most likely gained a beer gut in university thanks to endless amounts of alcohol at frat parties. 

She could follow that line of thinking.

 

“Sure thing, Jess.”  Just because she agreed didn’t mean she signed a contract to more than one date. 

Besides, a free meal to heat up at home when her mother wasn’t looking would be a miracle. 

Currently, the older woman was cranking out new dishes to the chagrin of her and her father. On this half of the week’s menu was a new salad she saw on an afternoon talkshow that a chef claimed consisted of mangoes, cilantro, diced tomatoes, a sprinkle of salt, and the juice of one lime. Mind you, the chef was a box blonde suburban wine-mom who had to have been completely on xanax as she _“yummed”_ and winked her eyes in _delight_ when the camera frames timed her staged cues. 

Nevertheless, she was tired of forcing down forkfuls of such an atrocious snack to avoid upsetting her mother. She might still be succumbing to her insecurities by refusing to deny her friend’s favor, but at least she’d have a nice meal to ease the guilt in her conscience.

If Rey was a superhero with her very own body-fitting outfit and knee-high latex boots, self-disappointment would be her uncontrollable power.

 

* * *

 

“How was it?”

“Did you get to talk to some of the professors?”

“I would’ve been so nervous, I’d just have a breakdown. Honestly!”

Rey tries her hardest to try to hide the smirk that’s threatening to poke a needle in her artificial impassivity.

 

Rose Tico, a good friend of hers, had just returned to classes from a school-approved trip to the Ivy League institute situated in Ithica—a small city situated right next door to their state. 

She’d already seen plenty of pictures of Cornell University, from its dormitories to its cafeteria, courtesy of Rose. Clogging up their message thread, she had to scroll back at least six times before the last text message sent between them with actual words could be seen. Although she was no longer amazed, the rest of student council thought otherwise. 

 

While waiting for everyone to arrive and take their seats, she continued to play a one-on-one match with Finn on a new game app they’d discovered late at night. What resulted was an endless stream of curse words being hurled at one another through the phone as they ignored their history homework. 

 

Finn elbows her arm as she loses for the second time in a row, her character’s race car veering off the track lanes and crashing into a palm tree which then sets off an explosive “game over” sequence.

She groans and rolls her neck to finally meet her friend’s eyes. “Can I help you? I was clearly busy,” the phone is placed face down on the table. 

“Do you think she’s really gonna go there?” Finn asks.

“What? What are you talking about?” 

Finn remains quiet for a while. 

The elevator in this throat seemingly jams as his Adam’s apple lodges up and down. She’s all too well aware of the indecision clouding his presence. 

 

Rey looks back at the scene across from her—looks at Rose laughing and giving rapid-fire answers in excitement. She had her future planned out.

Since day one, she’d set out her schedule: attend private school, receive high honors, volunteer at the local animal shelter, adopt a puppy, become student body treasurer, _attend Cornell University_ , marry a nice man, have one girl, etc. So far, she’d achieved everything on her itinerary up until the college part. But even then, everyone knew she’d be getting an early acceptance letter in the mail come wintertime.

Rose wasn’t at a standstill as waves lapped at her feet like the rest of them. 

She was running headfirst into the waters with a lifejacket on and a watery grin as the sea salt breeze welcomed her. 

 

They never acknowledged it, but the undulating swells were taking their friend far off into the distance away from them—from the land dwellers too afraid to lose their grip on the shifting sands beneath their feet. 

Over the summer, shared bear hugs became one-armed embraces. 

Daily late night movie binges became once-a-week maybes. 

Essay paragraphs in the form of text messages became one-worded responses and emoticons; where there’d been so much to say once, it was becoming difficult to find more than a handful of words now. 

 

Happiness for their friend came at the cost of theirs.

 

“Yeah. I don’t know why you’re asking me that, though. At least she’ll be one state over, Finn. It’s not like it’s the end of the world. Don’t think about it,” she hopes the smile she gives him is a comforting one and not a defeated-and-resigned one.

It’s a nice break then when Rodinon, student body president, comes barreling into the empty classroom. “We need to come up with something real quick. Everyone. Everyone! Attention please!” 

The noise dies down after a minute. Kaydel questions what’s the matter as ears ready for the delivery. 

“Jakku Spooks n’ Goofs emporium is shutting down.”

All hell breaks lose. 

“Shut up!”

“Can they do that?”

“What does this mean for us?”

“What the actual fuck?”

“You guys, _please_.” Rodinon squeaks. “For the record—before _any_ of you start attacking me again, let me give the rundown from flyers they posted this morning outside their parking lot,” he coughs. Pulling out a white sheet of paper with tapered pieces of duct tape on its four corners, he begins to read from a section:

 

_“To our lovely customers (not really), thank you for having given us 12 years of excellent memories. Sharing the holidays with you all have been a pleasure from us and our partners. Through the bright spots and the messy days (if you all read the instructions on our inventory there’d be no hospital visits to report annually which drove down our stocks, numbskulls) we appreciate it all. A big thank you to all (fuck you)._

_From Jakku Spooks n’ Goofs Emporium Owner,_

_Unkar Plutt”_

 

“Did he write that or an employee?”

“Nah, it has to be Unkar. He was a cheap asshole. Are we really shocked this is happening? Dude’s been sued _four_ times in just the last two years. His shit could literally be made by birds. And birds don’t have hands. _They don’t have hands_ ,” Poe scoffs. 

“Regardless,” counters Jessika, “we got our Halloween catalog from that store. They were basically wholesale—sure it was cheaply made, but they did the job for that one day.”

“So, what does this mean for us exactly?” Rey ponders. 

 

Surely, Plutt would be having a clearance sale. The gluttonous man never passed up a deal to make money to satisfy his greed. Voicing her thoughts, she figures she might have found a light in the tunnel only to have it collapse, brick by brick. 

Rodinon's hair stands messily as he runs a hand over his face.

“That’s the thing… He’s not just shutting down because of low sales and is now selling the rest for dirt. He’s mainly shutting down because the Department of Public Health cracked down on him—there isn’t any way to get our things. Too many violations since the last time they inspected him probably like a decade ago,” he emits in disbelief, “they really let that madman run for over ten years, _Jesus_.”

“So… what now?” Rose asks.

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to actually go through with our maze this year, you guys,” answers a dejected Sol Rivas.

 

The news is somewhat depressing.

 

Their newest Halloween tradition at school was surprisingly fun and well-done for being a high school production. They’d made a lot of money since they began running the idea just three years ago—that currency helped fund dances, field trips, and Proms past certain expectations. All of Kent looked forward to their PG-13 shenanigans. 

Lost in thoughts, they stayed late into the afternoon going over new possibilities and their costs. 

So immersed in the tasks at hand, Rey forgets to get the little kick she does when she essentially kink shames Mr. Skywalker’s sugar addiction in the break room next door.

 

It's just not her day all that much.

 

* * *

 

Thursday wakes up with a faraway sun reaching its golden glister in the sleepy afternoon as the month’s notorious first frost has begun settling deep into the marrow of bones.

Indian corn and candy corn both go on sale in separate aisles in grocery stores, her mother tells her. 

The hunter’s moon takes over that same day and with it arrives howling winds and packets of new lip balms to apply in the blustery night. 

Friday is the same as Kent becomes perfumed with pumpkin-spice and warmly sweet and bitter chocolatey bouquets. 

Saturday morning, Rey wakes up in flannel, denim jeans, and tanned brown boots. 

The woodland scenery from her window view is layer-upon-mountainous-layer picturesque and foretells an impending rainy weekend. 

 

Presently, the leaf-strewn street she was walking down with her father crunched below her steps. 

Rather than wait for her mother to wake up and cook them breakfast as she always did, father and daughter planned ahead and decided it would be a nice surprise for the woman they loved to wake up to an already cooked breakfast and flavored, seasonal coffee from Teedo’s cozy café two blocks down.

Light conversation produces airy giggles and playful grunts of annoyance as Rey tucks her arm in her father’s pocketed one. 

 

Despite the arched oak trees drawing shade over the neighborhood in a dark blanket, a shiny sports car remains silently boastful.

It was _his_ house. 

Or rather, his and his _wife’s_ house. The Ren household. 

Its two-story foundations held vertical in the air thanks to the wooden white pillars holding a sizable top balcony over the front porch. The symmetrical design and rectangular shape constructed the perfect colonial style fit for an upper-middle class family.

She’d be going in later today with her mother as they’d get a tour of the inside rooms to record measurements and begin the process of ordering suitable furniture to help the new strangers break their residence in and make it their own.

 

Sometimes, that Monday night at the park where she and Mr. Ren had their third encounter—or fourth, by his standards at least—popped up in her mind as she’d procrastinate on her homework assignments. 

The embers that once secretly flamed against him since that work dinner all those weeks back had shrunken into a soft flickering flame now faint licks of burns. 

Believing he would treat her differently from the way he did at Kanata’s that day after finding out she must have had a sad past—the connotation, untrue or not, comes attached to the word “adoption” no matter what anyone says—she trampled on over to him in the darkness with reckless confidence and a stormy cloud over her head. 

Ready to confront him and get angry, she’d been taken aback instead.

 

The man was his usual reserved self, as far as she’d seen him act. Sitting in silence with him that night, she hadn’t noticed until the next morning how her armor laid next to her in his companionship for the most part. He still wore his, but she imagined his would-be sword laid next to him as well, sheathed. Kept away from the crowds curious to see it in action. She was still a spectator, but he wasn’t putting on a show for her. 

 

As was her routine, she ran every night to her park. He didn’t show up again. 

In fact, she hadn’t caught a single glimpse of him in town or even hiding beneath scarves and jackets in the mosaic that Autumn was painting in vibrancy.

Hope was a basket you should never lay all your eggs in, she knew that. 

But Rey wouldn’t mind seeing him again.

Provided he stayed silent most of the time. She liked his company like that. 

 

“Pick a peck of pumpkins,” her father brings her back to reality as they walk up the cobblestone steps to their porch steps. The wall light there turns on in the early morning when it’s still too close to night’s variances of charcoal than morning’s soft pastels. 

She laughs at his comment, taken aback by its randomness. “What?”

Her father grins as he digs in his pocket for the keys now that they’re at the door. “It’s the season’s colloquial phrase. ‘A penny for your thoughts?’ Why don’t you pick a peck ofpumpkins and begin there by telling me what’s on your mind? You were up in space for a bit, thought I might have to call NASA to come bring you back.”

“They’d probably charge you millions. It wouldn’t be worth it,” she gives a soft smile. 

The hot cup in her hand sloshes the beverage inside as her hand clutches it tighter to her torso. 

“You’re the cutest little pumpkin in the patch, mija. One look at you and they’d understand.”

“Anyone who doesn’t get it is either simply ignorant or unintelligible. Lo digo no porque te quiero, pero porque es la verdad.” _I say this not because I love you, but because it’s the truth._

 

* * *

 

A heat clamp molds her chestnut tendrils into elegant spirals that brush the beginning swells of her breasts. She’s going over the shorter sun-kissed layers near her face by flipping the ends when her phone vibrates on the vanity. 

 

Jessika is freaking out. 

Rey accepts her video call.

 

“Dude, I’m a little nervous,” she hears her friend’s digital echo. 

“Don’t be!” Her mouth automatically forms an “o” shape as she brushes her lashes with a thick coat of black fibers. “You literally always say the same thing, it ends up going great, and then you get bored and move on to the next thing.” _There_ , she thinks. A nice burnt red lip color would complete her warm look. 

She’s dressing into a more refined style tonight mainly because of the work visit her and her mother will be going on in less than thirty minutes down the street.

With little to no time to change into more casual clothes to go on the double-date with Jessika right after, Rey settled on an olive green v-neck cardigan sweater buttoned up over a silky white tube top. Burgundy high-waisted skinny jeans kept her modest-looking as they’d conceal her belly button in the center of her tiny waist. 

She’d rather not give her mother reason to take her to church tomorrow.

 

“Can’t you ditch that house tour?” Jessika is changing in view of the camera. Both girls have seen each other in less thanks to life-learning experiences so Rey doesn’t mind. She’s too busy applying tinted lip gloss to care much anyway.

“Nope,” she answers insincerely. She totally could.

 

Upon finding out Rey was going on a date tonight, Jyn pulled out all the generous stops she had in her arsenal to get her daughter to enjoy a night out with a nice young man. 

She’d never brought home a boy before. Her mother was excited. 

Rey could care less about stringing along Trins Redd. If she was ultimately bored at Streetwise, she’d _maybe_ make out with him in the backseat of Kei’s car. Should her lip gloss come off too much as she ate her cheeseburger in the restaurant, there wouldn’t be much to lose doing so then. But she wouldn’t bring him home.

 

“ _Jess_ , relax okay?” She looks at her phone’s camera. “Tonight’s gonna go alright. If it gets too stuffy at Streetwise we can just go to the carnival near uptown, actually. Yeah, that would actually be pretty fun no matter what happens tonight,” she winks at her friend. 

“Huh, hadn’t thought about that… You’re right, though. You’re totally right. Okay,” she breathes in. “Okay,” she exhales out. “I’ll see you later tonight, babe! I need to go shave my legs, sadly.”

 

* * *

 

In her mother’s hands are printed papers of color-coded emails she’d been sending back and forth with Mrs. Ren. From the walk they made on over to the new household, her mom had been reminding her to behave well and not touch anything. Rey had seen some of the specifications Mrs. Ren wanted to discuss in a few minutes and it was a long list of bullet points to cover. 

She’d be lucky to make it on time to her double-date.

Until the very last inch of walls had seen the back of Jyn’s measuring tape tucked away in her old canvas bag and until she’d match the best type of wood for floorboards so they didn’t clash with the colors Mrs. Ren desired in her various rooms, her mother wouldn’t be seeing outside for quite a while. 

Rey was granted permission to leave early after taking pictures of the rooms in certain angles only to compile them later in the evening when she got back home.

 

Considering how invested and hands-on Mrs. Ren was with her mother, it was a shock then when Mr. Ren was the one to welcome them into the house after ringing the doorbell.

Dressed in an effortless white t-shirt, black jeans, and comfortable sneakers, it was the most approachable look she’d seen him wear to date. 

There was what looked to be dark stubble growing along the jut of his chin and above his top lip. The ends of his hair looked slightly damp as though he’d just showered recently. He smelled like sandalwood, clean and earthy.

 

“I am glad you were able to make it Mrs. Andor,” he smiles at her mother once the door closes. Looking at her now, it’s clear he wasn’t expecting her to show up. 

Mrs. Ren read and composed the communication with her mother. Mr. Ren, apparently, was lost in translation along the way. 

Introductions are short.

 

When Jyn Andor is surveying every square inch of rooms to flip, she’s in her zone. Which typically means she busts out her vintage clock radio. Places the owl-shaped device with a protruding antenna for signal on an end table. Secures her shoulder-length hair in a messy top bun. And she starts getting down to the grit as she leans and stretches to analyze her surroundings in a mathematical method only she can visualize.

Her mom’s employees arrive within the next ten minutes and they begin setting ladders and laying down swatches of paint colors on palettes. It rings strange to her when she realizes in all the time that has passed since they arrived, Mrs. Bazine isn’t anywhere to be found. 

 

She doesn’t say anything and neither does her mom. 

It’s not their business.

 

Without waiting for her mom to repeat her orders, Rey decides she’ll go on her own private tour of the house. The noise from the living room and kitchen decrease in decibel as she makes her way up the stairs.

Pulling out her mother’s handheld digital camera, she begins snapping away.

With the lights switched on, she becomes the artist and the rooms her subject. Never lingering too long or questioning the set poses she snapshots, she moves on to the next. 

Half an hour later and late afternoon has made way for the evening. 

She’s walking down the upstairs hallway to get to the stairs again when movement from a window disrupts her trek. A look around her environment and she sees no one. So she enters the room with a clear view of the backyard below.

Peering through the glass pane, she gets as close as she can to its surface and squints her eyes.

A bushy tail that leads to the lean body of a squirrel rests on a thick tree branch. Its beady dark eyes glimmer in the light like two headlights driving down a pitch-black road. The nut in its cheeks sits safely within its confines as it scurries on up to the top of its home—far enough until she can’t decipher any more movements.

 

“What are you doing in here?”

Jumping back from the frosted surface, she watches Mr. Ren leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “ _Jesus_! You scared me!”

“And I thought you could have been an intruder,” he frowns at her. “Next time, don’t leave a door halfway open if you’re inside.”

She’s annoyed now and can’t help but to roll her eyes. “Can you drop this ‘holier than thou’ act and treat me normally for once? You actually did on one occasion so I know decency is something you’re capable of at the very least.” 

 

Agitation is coursing through her bloodstream, activating trigger-ready emotional receptors without her consent.

She hates how sensitive she can be at times. 

People see tears gathering in eyes or hear sniffles of the nose and scurry off. Such quick and ardent emotional reactions are only to an advantage in movie screens. Last time she checked, her life wasn’t a long sequence of a film she could edit out parts, fast forward, or rewind—if it was, then it was terrible and should be binned. 

 

The air is full of a thick silence she can _hear_.

Her heart is thudding along letting her know she’s alive, his breathing is succinct and calm, the small creaks of the floorboards make them sound ever so weak as she imagines their muteness is a solid weight too much to handle and unpack.

 

And then _finally._

 

“I'm sorry if I’ve caused you any discomfort.” 

 

She can’t imagine him being anything but a Scorpio. 

It would explain his 180-degree change in demeanor.

She may have been dead wrong about plenty of other things in life before, but she’d swear on the Bible, she’d give an oath before a jury, and even before the President of the country, that Mr. Ren was a water sign—in control of his fluidity during the warm months, serene even, but then rippling and surging in the colder months to stave off ice that would freeze his unpredictable motions. 

 

“Well, you should be. For a psychiatrist, you kind of suck at hiding your thoughts.” 

When she sees him nod, she knows he understands her reference at feeling humiliated at the restaurant when her adoption was abruptly sprung into recognition. Good.

“I understand if you won’t accept my apology, but know I’m sincere with my intentions,” is all he can muster when she doesn’t relent.

 

She has an idea. 

 

And just like many of them, it can either end up going up in flames or riding off into the sunset.

“Well, actually,” she smirks. “There _is_ one thing you could do for me and I’ll forgive you. I won’t even make any snide comments anymore,” she pretends to zip her mouth. 

His amber eyes are soft and curious. “I don’t understand…”

 

A bright flash dilates his pupils to the size of black holes like those in space consuming everything in their gravitational pull as they widen in surprise when her camera finishes clicking a nanosecond later. She laughs at his unsuspecting face.

 

“I need a ride. It’s not a long drive, but if I walk I’ll be late,” she insists as she zips her purse, carefully covering the camera lenses. “Can you be my driver?”

“Tonight?” he asks puzzled. 

“Just for tonight, Mr. Ren.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you all so much for the kind words of encouragement and excitement <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for all the support—in kudos, comments, and other messages—that are left for this story! It's crazy to me lol

She was four-years-old and three months when she boarded her first train.

 

Skinny hand in plump hand, her social worker’s grip at the time reminded her of prison shackles like the kinds she remembered seeing in cartoons. 

She was being taken away from her home. Sent off to the unknown from the only place her frail feet and undernourished fingers had come in contact with since being born. 

For the longest time, she believed the entire Earth was Bristol, England—its lakes the wide oceans, evergreen forests the forbidden jungles, and pointy brick townhouses the ancient pyramids.

 

Already, one front tooth in her upper row of incisors was coming loose. 

_Strange_ , medical professionals had said initially upon their inspection of her health.  _But it is to be expected_ , they later rectified when they learned of her past:

 

An abandoned three-year-old, barely classified as a toddler, left at unknown hours near a fire station in the English countryside. That particular smoky morning, a Spanish-born gentleman with silver wires peppering the sides of his hair had turned his head to look away in a joking response at a lame jest a fellow worker attempted. About to enter the massive double doors with his prepared lunchbox in hand, a drooped figure huddled on the street caused him to pause. Wrapped in a reddish blanket adorned with holes that should’ve more appropriately been sewn horse caricatures by the amount the item was decorated with, the half-century man’s paternal instincts kicked into force.

Kneeling by the bundle, a slip of the ragged cloth revealed a pale face with sunken eyes, wisps of thin hair, and violet lips. 

In delayed shock, the homeless child observed the older man above her—he was older than her Papa with fewer wrinkles and kinder, aware eyes.

_Hazel_ , the man had thought as he took the bundle in all its pathetic desolation. 

But the name was an understatement.

 

More mysteriously shamrock and pine than green and more Elysian golden than brown, the child’s gaze held a force, unlike anything he’d seen before. Guarding its eyelids and below weary, cloudy eyes were the omens of thunderstorms; blue rains, purple flashes, and red outlines. Her veins were lightning bolts zig-zagging against an ivory terrain. Thin, but  _so_  enraged. In abundance, too.

When the man opened his arms and leaned in to pick up the rejected cargo, a soft, hollow gasp erupted from chapped lips.

 

Somehow, some heavenly way—the man will never know—the dying child in his arms seemed to come alive, reaching an invisible electric rush, it twisted and kicked him in the ribs!

Flipping onto its side, a hand shot out at the ground disrupting the weak gravel as tiny fingertips tried to gain momentum to bolt. 

Blanket coming undone, three disheveled buns revealed themselves sitting atop a  _girl’s_  head. With two knobby knees bent ready to run for Mama and Papa, the man’s warm hands dropped his lunch and grabbed onto the little girl’s arm in time. As though a faulty charge traveled between the two bodies, one negative and another positive, worried alarm jolted in the gentleman’s uncontrollable response:

 

_“_ _I’m not going to hurt you—Eres como un rayo!”_

She was like a ray of lightning.

 

The older man took a closer look at the girl who now stared at him in confusion and the dropped, blue lunch pail in hunger—a clear war in her eyes desperate for safety and satiety. 

One wrong move and she’d strike him down to run for liberation.

_Ray of lightning… You are Rey_ , the man thought.                  

 

Over 100 miles later and the window from her bumpy seat transformed from wooden barns and sheep to business suits and Burberry trench coats. 

Long gone was she from South West England and en route to Westminster thanks to the heated wheels the Great Western Railway carried its bleary-eyed passengers.

 

Not long after the old man had found her had the rest of his crew surrounded her and gained her slight trust by offering the child nourishment through bits and pieces of lunches their significant others had prepared for them. Minutes later and the police had arrived. Hours passed when she was notified that they couldn’t find her Mama and Papa. The end of that conversation came with the confirmation she was now a decision of the state—particularly a responsibility that would be residing in one of Bristol’s largest orphanages.

 

She was—what they estimated, at least—four years old when she’d been living in the orphanage for a while. 

Long enough to abide by the unspoken rules: wake up at seven in the morning for classes, eat afternoon lunch consisting of green beans, congealed Salisbury steak, a cardboard box of milk, and a chocolate bar, don’t run up the creaky stairs when its bedtime at eight o’clock, and never ever disobey the nuns. 

Following the rules had made her a favorite among the devoted sisters.

Especially one Sister Ahsoka Tano.

 

For years, the nun had spent her work observing and interviewing couples—old and young—interested in adoption. Many times she had watched astonished and reverent men and women leave the orphanage with little feet following in tow. Many times she had watched the same people, now tired and conflicted, return with a duffle bag and a bigger pair of feet than had originally left come back only to never see the once happy men and women ever again.

Sister Ahsoka had sworn early on that she would protect her children the best she could—not just from the instant red-flag dangers society could pinpoint, but from the charmers and get-happy-quick schemers unfit to think of anything but their hedonism. 

She did well for many years, she’d like to think.

 

Never would she forget a specific day, however. Not when it was a case of some divine miracle, a resurrection if one would

On the 26th day of July, Jyn and Cassian Andor had entered the orphanage.

Children filtered in and out noisily as the hopeful parents looked around to fulfill their dream of a family. 

Rey paid them no mind. 

At least, she didn’t until she heard the man speak a sentence in his native tongue. 

Her feet pitter-pattered towards the couple—the little girl with three buns in her hair pulled on the woman’s long dress.

_“Mama? Papa?”_

Sister Ahsoka remained a few feet away, tucked in secrecy behind the stairwell.  She understood what the mousy toddler was referring to, had been lectured of her story. 

In her mind, she must have believed the man with brown eyes to be of kin with the Spanish gentleman who had rescued her and taken her from her parents. 

She was asking for them in what little words she could utter. 

 

Saved her, that man did—but at the cost of a wound never to be healed with closure, a salve only her flesh and blood could apply. 

 

As she rounded the corner to make her presence known, Ahsoka watched on in stillness as the woman, Jyn, as she introduced herself, tearily crouched down and managed a watery grin. Her eyes stayed firmly on the child before her.

It was love at first sight for Jyn and Cassian. 

A couple who had been one of the most capable creatures ready to give unconditional love. It did not matter if the woman’s womb could not spark life into existence or that the man could not help light the match as well. They had more than enough love overflowing between them to baptize and bring to life a house of three.

 

A train fare later, one ticket stub bought, and two stops at train stations—an exit and an arrival—Rey Andor came to existence in the world.

She’d never forget that bumpy train ride. 

 

* * *

 

Excitement bubbled in her stomach and leaked to the tips of her toes tapping away at the porch. Her phone sat light in the pocket of her jeans after having finished sending an apology text to a certain friend. What was about to ensue was more important.

 

It was a few minutes after eight o’clock at night. 

The air was still brisk but had taken on a redolence of cleanliness and wet grass from just the hour before. 

Winds were picking up speed as leaves flew over the pavements and olive lawns. 

Inside the house behind her, she could hear the thud of ladders and conversations. One of them being that of Mr. Ren and her mother.

Deciding there was no one to stop her, she practically skipped to the paved garage road next to the main house. The sleek black car was brilliant. 

However, looking closely, there were small dots disrupting the waxy reflection. 

Trailing dots.

It was beginning to drizzle. Just as she predicted the dewy morning would conclude earlier.

 

Before she could go back inside and hurry the adults to finish their talk, Mr. Ren’s body steps out his wooden door with a new sweater on top of his plain white shirt.

“Well,  _finally_.”

He glares at her as he clicks the car open. “I wanted to ensure your mother you’d be in fine hands.”

His arm intercepts her own when he opens the door for her. Settling in the passenger seat, she clasps her hands together on her lap as he begins the twenty-minute drive.

“Thanks for doing this, by the way,” she murmurs. “You didn’t have to, you know?”

“And have you not forgive me by continuously making unneeded remarks?” His eyes are vehemently focused on the dark road. The car’s headlights shine a fluorescent white bright enough to enhance the raindrops now falling more steadily. He doesn’t look perturbed.

She spots a small smile at the end of his response and feels flushed. It reminds her of when she first met him at Kanata’s—the awkward smile that pushed her desire to know more about him. “In full disclosure, I should let you know that my mouth speaks before I can think right so I wouldn’t hold my promise so highly,” she jokes.

 

The grip on the steering wheel loosens as the luxurious Audi comes to a halt. The imposing red light bathes them in its hue. 

Perhaps a warning sign for her to stop getting so comfortable with a man she’s much too intrigued about. A man that most would click their tongues in disapproval at her for wanting to get closer with. 

Whatever secrets he holds, they don’t belong to her. But as is life, she wants what she knows she cannot have.

 

“You ramble. Often. I didn’t expect you to be taking priestly vows back there,” he replies.

“Well, if you knew my promise was pretty shallow, why’d you agree anyway?”

Ants begin their march inside her skin. 

Her fingertips twitch.

“You needed help and I had the means for a solution,” is his simple reply.

 

Green light sparks through the showering downpour. From her side, the window’s surface looks similar to that of a wet, heated mirror. Her reflection is no longer as visible. Neither is the outside.

The car advances forward alone in the usually occupied streets now empty for the most part. People must have decided to stay indoors for refuge.

 

“Do you always do that?” He momentarily drops his gaze to her restless fingers. 

Lost in the moment, she hadn’t realized she let the silence continue. 

There’s a downward tilt to his mouth. She fights the urge to smooth it out, make him smile at her again.

It feels good when he’s being nice to her.

“I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. Just nerves for tonight, I guess…” she settles as an excuse.

 

A cool sensation is dropped into her lap and as he draws back his hand to place it onto the steering wheel once again, she notes how the appendage could practically wrap around her entire thigh.

On her lap sits a small cube dotted with blue crevices and circles.

“What is this?” Her pointer finger traces the uneven exteriors. 

A mechanism on one even surface clicks like a pen when she pushes down, another gear has her thumb drawn to its spinning disc as she twiddles with it. One side has what looks like a protruding stick that budges beneath the weight of a curious finger. 

She’s absorbed.

“A fidgeting cube. Whether you find yourself jittery or nervous because of dates,” he gives her a knowing look, “just hold it in your hands. It’ll help you relax.”

“I’m not nervous about a date!” She liked him better when he was silent.

“I suppose it being a double date helps lessen the nerves…” he trails off as though contemplating a scientific equation. With lips folded, she understands he’s holding back his amusement.

“Who even told you all this? Was it my mom?” She’s brooding in her seat, the seatbelt a little too close and tight to her neck. Scoffing, her fingers begin to twist and push against the device in her hand.

“You’re all dressed up and your mom couldn’t stop talking about how excited she was to meet a Trins Redd even if you are going out so late,” he smiles.

Rolling her eyes, she looks ahead at the road. “Whatever. Also, don’t you think it’s a little macho of you to assume I dressed up for a guy?”

His right brow quirks. “Forgive me, I should have known that heels were a suitable choice for interior decorating and the rain,” his words come out drolly. 

“So now you’re implying I look ridiculous?”

Eyes widening, he tries to retrace his words. “No, Ms. Andor—”

“It’s Rey, actually.” She didn’t want formalities.

 

It makes their rapport seem as though a parent is talking down to a child. 

They’re neither and she wants him to be keenly aware of that for some reason.

“I’m Rey and you’re Kylo.”

 

The dragging sound of windshield wipers fills the air as minutes later, they finally make it onto the block where the restaurant grill is located in all its modern gastronomic glory. The townsfolk who didn’t decide on hiding from the rain were causing a raucous in the open pubs and eateries—the downpour not hindering their swaying motions and boisterous laughs under streetlights.

“My stop is here so you can pull over. It’ll be easier that way,” she shivers when the quietness in the car is broken by her hushed words. 

Despite the walkable distance from Kylo’s car to the curb and food joint, with no umbrella to shield her from the onslaught of water, she knows she’s going to get drenched.

Her hands move to unlatch the door when his voice commands her to stop.

 

The ejection of the seatbelt snaps off as his body curves around his seat so his long arm can reach for something in the back—a discarded jacket. In his hold, he pushes the garment into her arms, digits busily pushing and pulling on the cube he gave her moments ago.

“I promised you’d be in good hands,” he meets her eyes.

 

On the paved cement, she has no reason to stand still—the wind has all but doused her curls in cold weight, spirals now unruly waves.

Her clothes feel like a second skin, but she feels almost bare. Naked in his unwavering presence even once the door closes. His warm coat envelops her shoulders as she all but drowns in his scent rather than nature’s monsoon. 

The window rolls down.

 

“Rey, you look beautiful. Not ridiculous.”

 

A millisecond later and she’s sure had she blinked she’d have missed the small dimple in his left cheek.

 

She stands there long after his presence has gone.

A blooming red traces her nose and ears. 

Rosy cheeks and dilated pupils, she’s warm despite the low temperatures swirling around her body. 

In her palm, the cube lies still as her fingers no longer reach for it, desiring something else beneath their touch just as responsive.

 

Funnily enough, she feels as though she is a set piece in a glass house. To most everyone—including the dancing drunkards and smooching couples around her—she’s invisible, a part of the installment not worth a second glance. But it’s still a glass house and she’s still on display. Seen by the one person interested in finding a focal point in the least expected of places.

She begins to aimlessly walk down the twinkling block, reminiscing about the smooth ride that had just occurred. She didn’t want to forget any second.

_Ping_.

** Jessika:  hey girl - I’m so sorry you can't make it tonight! I hope your stomach bug gets better by Monday. **

And yet another message half a second later.

**Jessika: LOL Trins was like a kicked puppy when you didn’t show up so he left exactly at 7, but Kei stayed and we had so much fun, I can’t wait to tell u all about it. Sucks that u got all dressed up for nothing :/ I hope your outfit didn’t go to waste - u looked too good for no one to see it. Txt me when u wake up so I know ur alive! **

She'd gotten what she wanted. 

All dressed up and a good amount of alone time with company much better than Trins Redd could ever be, there wasn't an ounce of regret for lying to her friend about a fake stomach bug to skip out on the double-date tonight.

In the background, she can hear a flash of electricity traveling the distance from the atmosphere to Earth. 

Father always did say she was too impulsive like lightning, she smiles to herself. 

 

* * *

 

The following morning, her throat feels like a cave collapsed onto itself.

 

Groaning as she struggles to sit up straight, her vision feels weak and forehead toasty. Her body falls back in bed. She’d have succumbed to slumber again that early morning was it not for an edge digging into her waist and lower back.

She’s sure her grumbles come out muted due to the narrow pathway her throat has formed because of inflammation. Coming into contact with something long and smooth, she pulls a black jacket from beneath her, still damp.

His jacket.

She wants to chuckle. 

Balling it into a smaller size, her head rests upon it as she places it over her pillow.

 

It’s a knock on the door that sends her shooting out of bed.

“Rey! I’m about to make some breakfast, honey. Would you like sunny-side up or scrambled eggs?”

Completely bare, she quickly throws the jacket into the back of her closet as she shimmies into a tank top with a pair of gray boy shorts. Knotting her tangled hair into a bun, she opens her door in record time as she dumps some clothes that were lying on the floor into her mother’s awaiting laundry basket.

“Hey mom,” she croaks. “Can I actually just have some tea?” 

The few tendrils of hair that escape from her knot caress her temples and cheeks.  They cling in perspiration.

“ _Jesus_ , honey,” her mother puts the hamper on the ground as the back of her hand makes contact with her forehead. “You’re burning up! Take a shower and come downstairs right after, okay? Don’t worry about finishing last night’s work—just bring the camera and we can connect it to my computer and go from there.”

“Sure thing.”

 

The sounds of sizzling eggs, ruffling of papers, and silverware clinking on plates greet her when she eventually walks downstairs. 

Setting the camera aside, she smiles as she reaches for the cup with Earl Grey tea. “You didn’t have to do all of this for me, you know.”

 

Before her sat dishes stacked with freshly made waffles, buttered toast slices, and heaps of greasy bacon slices.

“And have you pass out on me so I have to drive you to urgent care? Not a chance,” her mother wipes her hands on a dish rag. “Your dad left to go to the convenience store for some medicine. I, however,” a sigh puffs from her mouth, “have to stop by the office today for a last minute video call.”

During her mother’s spiel, Rey took to setting up the camera connection to Jyn’s laptop.

 

It takes a few seconds before all pictures pop up and as she’s going through them one by one to drag into a folder when a particular one freezes her fingers.

It’s the candid of Mr. Ren.

_Kylo_.

 

As her mother stores items back into the refrigerator, she turns the machine at a more hidden angle and quickly sends his photo to her number using her mother’s messenger and quickly deletes the evidence thereafter.

 

“Oh! By the way—before I leave, you dropped this when you must’ve come home, honey.” Her mother digs through her purse until she finds what she’s looking for. 

Rey gulps at the sight. 

A black-and-blue cube lies on the marble island top.

 

“Where’d you even get that? Don’t tell me, dad bought it for you?”

“Yeah! It was over the summer, though. Totally forgot I even had it,” she attempts a laugh. “I guess it was sitting in a pocket I didn’t remember leaving it in.”

 

When her mother kisses her on the forehead before she leaves, Rey understands why a stripe of guilt paints her insides. 

She shouldn’t feel so giddy doing mundane things with Kylo—anything that required secrecy and manipulation on her part was never good. 

But similar to how impossible it was to envision where and when lightning would strike, it was in her nature to forego stop signs and act out against predictions. 

Most of all, she didn’t want to stop.

 

This was nothing more than curiosity, after all.

 

* * *

 

The beginning of the week crawls by with children ambling to their schools chirping about the newest slasher flick they want to see down at the theater. 

More houses have welcomed families of jack-o’-lanterns on their yellow-green lawns that have yet to be raked of fallen autumn leaves. 

The sky has transformed from a robin blue egg to the color of granite where rain steadily shrouds the town in mist instead of sun rays. 

Halloween is near and costume stores are hanging banners advertising their sales.

 

However, not everyone is excited for the day where doorbells will ring until midnight, teenagers will make it onto the local news for trying to have a séance down at the cemetery, and pantries will be stocked with leftover candy until January. 

Down a certain block stands a house barren of the seasonal festivities. But its mailbox contains an envelope, one that is torn open with shaking hands as the recipient walks back to their house. 

Slowly as if to their execution.

 

_“My Dearest Kylo,_

_I hope this letter finds you well in your new home. I hear the impending winter will impact Connecticut quite hard later this year so I hope you are well prepared for the safety of yourself and your family. To get to the point of this letter—I hear you have been having… difficulties in acquiring a new job in your respective field. Please understand that my words have sway with the community at large. My placing restrictions on your name have all to do with your recent actions more so than your persona, my protégé. You have work in New York that is unfinished, but I will allow you to continue to practice with my connections in your new state should you respond in accordance. Believe me, I understand your rebelling phase is common of young men—I thought you to be smarter, but you are still part of the male population being seduced by ridiculous notions you will soon understand have no ground. Remember the world is built on theory and fact and by the men who prove such realities; to believe otherwise is to be foolish._

_I wait to hear your decision. Understand, your fate awaits you. I know when the time comes, you will do what is best for you and your family._

_With Regards,_

_Dr. Snoke”_

The flimsy letter feels heavy, gaining more and more weight after each sentence—the final word a punch to the gut.

 

Crumpling the paper, Kylo storms into the house, the depressing weather outside no match for the onslaught his thoughts have taken on. Torn into bits and pieces, the work of the devil is thrown into the burning logs of the fireplace illuminating the living room.

He was alone.

He wasn’t supposed to be, the glimmer of his ring reminded him.

It was getting hard to swallow. 

 

A hand reaches into his pocket as he dials the number a man should never delete every other week for sanity of mind.

“Hello?” The line picks up the voice of a woman from the other end.

He speaks only when he is certain he will not yell obscenities. “Bazine?”

“…Yes? Kylo?”

“Have you taken your medication recently?”

A disembodied sigh crackles over the phone. “Do you want the truth?”

“You decide,” he speaks quietly.

“Then, yes. I took my pills this morning,” her voice continues with an edge. She is unhappy, this he knows. On the verge of heated tears if her wavering intonation is anything to go by.

“That’s good,” he can barely swallow. “Remind me why you went to New York this week, again?”

“You know I could never truly leave my home without ever visiting again, right?” 

She’s disappointed. 

“I told you I would come with you to Connecticut, but I never said I—”

“Bazine,” he cuts her rant on the horizon. “Have you talked to your father?”

“I don’t see how this is relevant, Kylo—”

“Bazine, please…” No matter how hard he pulls at the hair of his roots, the pain does not distract him from the situation at hand.

 

Sounds of shuffling and movement manifest through the airwaves before a tired breath cuts through. “Yes, yes I did. I-I know that… we agreed to keep this a secret, but he was  _so_  worried, Kylo. You should have heard him—should have  _seen_  him. He’s never like that and—”

“He’s using you.” 

Blunt and to the point, he doesn't care how callous he sounds.

 

A minute with no noise passes before her rage can be felt in the air around him, closing his airways even more. “You have  _no_  right to say that when you won’t even  _talk_  to him!”

“So the  _one_  time I ask you for anything—your discretion, so I can  _help_  the both of us, you cave in and now my back is to a  _fucking_  wall.”

“You’re being foolish if you think we can hide forever until our names are forgotten. Maybe unlike you, at least I  _have_  a name worth remembering,” she hatefully retorts.

“For your sake, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

 

When it comes to the topic of her lineage, it’s always a back-and-forth ordeal; a seesaw conversation that never carries any heavy weight to make her see the light. He’s beaten down on having the same discussion night after night. His bones ache as his muscles tick with unleashed agitation jumping in their fibers.

 

When her next words arrive, they come barbed with an icy conviction and he’s not so sure whether he’s joyful or not in the revelation. “Enjoy the holidays, Kylo. Alone. You've had plenty of practice.”

 

The click of an abruptly ended call carries in the air, the electric dismissal a relief and a sentence.

Just like her father, Bazine was stubborn in her beliefs even in the detriment of others. Herself, even.

 

There were many reasons Kylo married Bazine—many having to do with the fact that it was the right thing to do at the time, when the dust hadn’t settled on the floor and they were mere twenty-something-year-olds afraid of being lonely in a world seemingly deadset on seeing them fail. 

There were many reasons Kylo stuck around long after his initial, basic, animalistic sensations faded into numbness from his undergraduate days when he met his wife. 

And he had to remind himself of those reasons every single day when guilt would consume him from all angles—for having committed a wrong thing and having done the right thing. 

There was no mercy for him, not even as he neared twenty-nine-years-old in a month’s time.

 

That night, the television played a random channel he paid no attention to. The rain was unrelenting in its torrents as it slithered like a river down the neighborhood, water sloshing like waves near the curbs. 

Despite having cooked rudimentary pasta—really, just boiled the carbohydrates and topped it with parmesan cheese—he had no appetite. His mind was restless and bent on ignoring his body’s physical tiredness.

Perhaps he had been mistaken in believing that this state, the home of his boyhood, would offer him a reprieve of the old demons that once chased after him—that they would be long gone from hiding beneath his bed and now onto scaring other children. It seemed, however, that they had only been hiding in the shadows, waiting to join the new goblins that terrorized him.

 

Loneliness was a relief. 

He was able to remind himself he was doing the right thing with no contrarian voices screaming around him.

But it was also a crime sentence. 

In thinking of how he was acting justly in the present, he had to think of the times where he wasn’t and how immersed he was in his past convictions that to see where he was at now felt as though he was a surviving escapee from a cult on his tail. A highly organized and wealthy one at that.

 

As the fireplace continued to crackle, he could hear it then—above the noise of sports reruns. The booming sound would appear a second later after a faint flash of light would brighten the room he sat inside with only the company of his thoughts.

A lightning storm.

How long had it been since he had seen one? 

He couldn’t remember, but he must have been a kid. He recollects sitting in excitement as he’d watch the electric daggers pierce through the night sky and stab the Earth in a rapid-fire pace, a tactical speed that could not be predicted.  The light in the darkness, the danger, the power, and beauty astonished and captivated him as a boy. 

Apparently, it still did as he made his way to the window for a better look.

 

Rather than the bursts of light catching his wholehearted attention, it’s a lone figure jogging on the streets that shock his eyes.

 

It’s the figure of a human—but not just anyone, he can tell. 

Through the cover of a hoodie and leggings, it’s a  _girl_.

 

He knows only one reckless teenager who’d be crazy enough to be running in the night.  _Rey_. Are her parents aware of this, he wonders.

 

Looking down at his watch, the long and short arms of his clock stretch in harmony to let him see it’s nine o’clock at night.

And she’s out there all  _alone_.

His body staggers in the darkness of the room lit by the changing images of the TV. He lumbers past strewn chairs and jumps over discarded books on the floor as he shoves his limbs into a sturdy raincoat. There’s no time to put on protective boots.

But he has an idea of where she’s heading.

 

So he chases after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been an interesting week, to say the least. 
> 
> For any readers who are facing any storms, please stay safe! 
> 
> On a side note, I finally have done the whole plot for this story and I'm super excited to start carving its path. Not sure yet how many chapters it will turn out to be, but I feel as soon as I cross the halfway mark I'll make the total known to keep it cute and concise lol. As always, thank you guys so much for your kindness and encouragement!
> 
>  


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